From Shattered Places
by lizandletdie
Summary: Historical AU: After suffering a horrific violation, Lady Belle finds herself alone and traumatized with a ruined reputation. Her father's neighbor and creditor Mr. Gold says he'll forgive his debt in exchange for her hand in marriage. Despite her reservations, she accepts. But is he really the man she thought he was? Trigger warning for rape aftermath & PTSD
1. Wedding Day

Today was supposed to be her wedding day. She should have been unable to sleep because of nerves and not because sleep had evaded her nearly every night for the last six months. Sleep was where the monsters lived, sleep was where he could still come for her – but that didn't bear thinking about, and so she would not do it. She focused back on her novel, then to the clock on the mantle. It was half-past nine. She should, at this moment, be standing in a cathedral in London and preparing to say vows to her cousin, Gaston. He was her father's heir and she an only child. The marriage had been arranged when she was in the cradle and he still in short pants and it had never occurred to her to want anything else. She'd been fond enough of him, in her way, and he'd accepted it without question the same way he'd been groomed to accept anything else. And then six months ago, all that had been ripped out from under her.

Her book slipped from her fingers at the memory, and she jumped at the sound of it slamming into the floor. She'd not done well with loud noises for the last six months. Not loud noises, or surprises, or darkness, or the smell of alcohol, or certain phrases that had been innocuous enough before but now left her world tilting dangerously on its axis. Her father had been forced to stop calling her my girl, and even now he would occasionally stop a sentence halfway through and she knew that he'd been about to say the hated words.

Belle grimaced at the thought and stooped to retrieve her fallen book. She hadn't turned a page in an hour, and another glance at the clock told her it hadn't been five minutes since the last time she looked up. What would she be doing right now, she wondered, if everything hadn't gone so spectacularly to hell six months ago? She imagined she'd have been up half the night worrying about everything from the flowers to her dress, the idea of marrying Gaston having long since lost its mystery. He'd spent weeks at a time at her father's estate in the country and she didn't see how marriage would have changed much between them beyond their sleeping arrangements. That, she thought, was the part that would have consumed most of her interest and anxiety. Six months ago, Belle had been totally ignorant of the goings ons between a man and a woman – now, she knew them all too well.

Six months ago, she had been at a house party. Six months ago, she had gotten separated from the other guests by the Earl of Nottingham. Six months ago, her life had effectively been ended.

She never much cared for the Earl. He drank too much, he smoked too much, and he liked to corner young ladies in dark place and whisper obscene things to them where their chaperones couldn't hear. No one dared speak of it, because the ladies were not meant to know such words and anyway, why were you in a dark corner of the house alone? Belle asked herself the same question on a near daily basis now. Why had she gone to the library alone? Why hadn't she retired to her room instead when the headache came on her? If it had changed nothing else, at least no one would have stumbled onto them later when he was putting himself back together and she was sobbing and trying frantically to hold up a torn neckline to cover her shame.

Even if everything else had been innocent, the blood on the chaise had given the whole thing away.

Gaston, of course, had called the Earl out regardless of the fact that their engagement had been effectively ended. Instead of an acceptance of the duel, Nottingham had replied with a proposal of marriage. Belle wanted to take her grievance to the courts before being talked out of it. She wouldn't marry him, though. She'd rather die alone and a spinster than be forced to endure his company for another moment.

Not that she had much of a choice about becoming a spinster, anyway. She wasn't naïve – it was Nottingham or it was spinsterhood, and so she had retired to her father's country estate (which would one day be Gaston's), stopped taking visitors, and dedicated herself to quietly wasting away.

Belle sighed and got up, setting her book on the table of the sitting room (she could barely stand to be in libraries anymore). If she was going to be completely unable to focus, she might as well take a walk. The fresh air would probably do her good, and as long as she stayed to sunlit paths and open spaces she rather enjoyed being outside. Outside wasn't where it had happened, outside was safe.

She skipped the parasol, gloves, and veiled hat that she would have worn in her life before. What was the point in attempting to preserve a complexion now? What was the point in anything now? The sunlight felt good on her bare skin, and Belle felt herself drawn to sanctuary of the gardens, where no one would notice her or care what she was doing.

One of the few things that she had found eased her frayed nerves in the days after her ordeal was pacing. She had made a habit of it, circling the drawing room of the London house so many times the servants had begun to skip cleaning it if the door was shut. She paced in her room when she had been bedridden, and now that she had fled in shame to the country house she paced in her gardens. She was struck with the strange image of herself dropping dead and spending the rest of eternity as a ghost pacing through the attics and gardens and scaring the daylights out of everyone. She thought she might like that, actually. No one could hurt ghosts, and she could finally be beyond caring about any of the rest of this.

It should probably terrify her how pleasant death sounded, but it didn't. The one thing that kept her from leaping off the roof (now that she mostly had her wits about her) was that, were she to take her own life, she would be damned to Hell while Nottingham could be one deathbed prayer away from salvation. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, he'd already taken enough from her that she would not let him have that. She would live just to spite him.

"Are you going someplace, dearie?" the voice broke into her thoughts and practically sent her hurtling into the roses in her surprise. A hand came to her arm and held her steady on her feet. "Careful," the voice continued. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She had to bite down on her tongue to try to steady her breathing as the hand released her slowly. She was floating again and she couldn't breathe for the tightness in her chest. She turned and found Mr. Gold standing there. He seemed to recognize her discomfort, and took a step back as she fought to get her emotions under control.

"My father is out," she said once she could control herself enough. "But the gardeners are around and I'm expecting visitors at any moment."

The last came in a rush, and she knew he could tell she was lying. She had the sudden fear of Mr. Gold covering her mouth and dragging her into the bushes while she screamed and fought, but she brutally crushed it. He walked with a cane, and if he truly meant her any harm he'd not have introduced himself like he had.

"Then I'll not keep you," he said patiently. "I was simply walking home and saw you taking a stroll and thought I would say hello."

A stroll was a polite way of putting it, but the rest of his story was certainly credible. The man had owned a house nearby as long as she could remember, having made his fortune in textiles manufacturing or something similar. Her father had always vaguely looked down on Mr. Gold for being new money, but that hadn't stopped them from socializing, nor had it stopped him from lending her Papa a bit of money over the years or helping him with some investments. She'd known the man since he first bought the estate when she'd been a girl – his house wasn't nearly as large as hers, but then her family name was ancient and so was their money, and his house had only become a permanent home a year or two ago. She remembered it was right around the time her engagement to Gaston had been announced, maybe a few months after. He'd come here and she had gone to London for the season and they hadn't spoken since.

She had become lost in her thoughts again, she realized. It had been too long since she'd talked and now he would start looking at her strangely and make his excuses and leave. She didn't want him to leave, she realized. He was still looking at her, but it wasn't with scorn or pity or thinly veiled lust or any of the ways she'd been used to people looking at her these last months. He wasn't leaning in as though hoping she'd reveal some titillating detail that had been kept from the public, or leaning away in disgust. He stood ramrod straight with both hands resting on the cane which he held in front of him. He was simply waiting for her to reply and continue his polite chitchat. It had been ages since someone spoke to her as though she were not seconds away from shattering into a million pieces.

"How has your son been?" she finally asked, remembering vaguely that he had a son someplace and that the young man was about her age, though she'd never really met him.

"He's been well," he replied, inclining his head. "He's still trying to adjust to running the company, of course."

Ah yes, that's right. His son ran his company. That was why he had moved out of London, so he could let his son take over running the company.

"And are you adjusted to country life?" she said, and she was proud of herself, this was the longest conversation she thought she'd had that didn't result in tears – either hers or her father's – since it had happened.

"As well as can be expected," he replied with a smile and she forced her face to mirror his as well as she could. It was sometimes hard to remember to show the right emotions at the right times, but he hadn't seemed to notice. "The doctor has insisted I take more walks."

Dr. Hopper loved prescribing walks, it had become something of a joke around town that there was no ailment a good walk couldn't fix. Perhaps that was what drove Belle in her relentless pacing.

"And what has brought you out on this fine day?" he asked her when she didn't continue their conversation. She felt her breath constrict in her chest again as she tried to formulate an answer that wasn't more truth than she could tell him.

It was possible, she realized, he truly didn't know what had befallen her in London. It was hardly a secret – six people had walked in on her immediately afterward and it had been in all the papers. Mr. Gold may be a solitary man, but she would be surprised if there was anyone in the English speaking world who wasn't aware she'd been defiled at a house party by a peer of the realm. It was the kind of thing people loved to tut over at breakfast in low tones. Did you hear that Miss So-and-so and Mr. Such-and-such were seen walking alone in Regents Park? What would her mother say?

And it was always the woman who felt the wrath of society, Belle had realized. No one had said Nottingham was unmarriageable after this. He'd certainly been uninvited from a fair few social events and had been forced to leave the city for the season, but she'd be surprised if he wasn't back in town next year and attending dances and dinners. A title and a fortune on a single man could override a good many complaints from a good many mothers, people would simply keep closer eyes on their daughters for a little while.

Damn, she hadn't answered him in a long time again.

"It was such a lovely day," she began, the fake smile on her face becoming almost painful. "That I simply couldn't be cooped up inside another moment."

He nodded sympathetically, and she wondered for one horrible second if he'd just remembered where he'd seen her name recently and would now take his leave and go back home to write letters to everyone about how he'd run into Lady Belle French and wouldn't you know it, she's a mad woman now.

"I have to agree," he said instead. "Perhaps the good doctor is onto something with this walking business."

She breathed a sigh of relief, because at least he still wasn't looking at her like she was crazy and it just felt so good for someone to listen to her for a moment without waiting for her to begin shrieking hysterically and rending her garments in shame and insanity.

"Perhaps he is," she replied, her smile rapidly becoming genuine. She was proud of herself. She had held a conversation with a man, and nothing bad had happened.

"Well, I'll not take any more of your time," he said finally, apparently having exhausted his repertoire of topics with the weather and asking after her health and with her own conversation skills already stretched to their limit. "It's been a pleasure, Lady Belle."

It wasn't his fault. He couldn't have known – shouldn't have known, really – but suddenly Belle felt like her head was under water and she couldn't breathe and there was another man here and he was whispering the words it's been a pleasure into her ear as he slid out of her and his breath was hot and moist and she felt dirty and desecrated and just wanted to be at home in her bed and for all of this to be a terrible, horrible dream.

She wasn't there, she reminded herself. She wasn't there anymore. It had happened and it was over and she was outside and there was sun beating down on her and she was floating and watching Mr. Gold as he became more and more agitated and he was calling her name but she was shaking and she felt like she was choking and suddenly she turned and ran and she was running so hard she thought her lungs might burst and she cursed corsets as she slammed the door, drawing the attention of the maid who had been dusting in the hall. Belle couldn't face anyone or their questions, instead she ran up the stairs like the hounds of hell were after her and locked herself in the bedroom where her breathing didn't let up until she had shut herself up in a wardrobe and sunk to the floor and shaking uncontrollably.

Today was supposed to be her wedding day.


	2. Shame

Gold watched her retreating form as Belle ran into the house. That had been a disappointing encounter, he decided. He'd heard the rumors, of course. Neal had mentioned it in a letter a few months ago, asking if it was the girl he remembered from his father's house. Gold hadn't wanted to believe it was true, but when she had returned from town unexpectedly and alone...well, he hadn't needed to see a lot more than that. Short of witnessing the deed himself, nothing would have done a better job convincing him of what had happened to her than the fear he'd seen in her eyes.

He grimaced as he turned to leave. It was a pity – an absolute pity. She had always been a lovely, vivacious girl when he'd seen her and so very intelligent. They weren't friends, although he and her father were acquainted through business and proximity and he'd spent evenings at their house for social events.

He couldn't for the life of him figure out how a man could look at any woman and want to hurt her, but he especially couldn't imagine seeing someone like Lady Belle with her innate curiosity and outgoing demeanor and kindness and wanting to snuff the light out of her eyes like that. It was a damn shame is what it was.

Gold made his way back home slower than he'd made the rest of the walk. He'd have been inclined to blame it on his leg bothering him, except for the fact that the damn doctor had been right and taking these little walks were actually helping his ankle quite a bit. He'd broken it in an accident more than a decade ago, and it hadn't ever really healed properly. One of the reasons country life had appealed as much as it had was that he could avoid walking so much. In London, he'd been constantly on the production floor running inspections or showing the place to potential investors. When he was here he could go days without leaving the house if he wanted to. He kept a carriage which he made regular use of if he needed to leave his property, but otherwise his world had become the country house and the two miles of land in any direction and that had been enough.

His valet was in a mood when he arrived back home and it was all Gold could do not to laugh. Jefferson was the person Gold saw the most, since he was the one who kept his wardrobe clean and in good repair and made sure that Gold could look the part of a country gentleman when necessary. Jefferson was also prone to the occasional fit of hysterics when he felt his hard work wasn't being appreciated. If Jefferson weren't so damn good at his job (or if Gold weren't so opposed to change) he'd probably have found himself out on the street by now, but fortunately for him he'd been brought here from London.

"And just where have you been?" Jefferson huffed, looking at the dirt marring Gold's once pristine boots.

"I went for a walk," Gold replied. "Just like the doctor prescribed."

"Through a field?" Jefferson asked, going to the wardrobe to pull out something for Gold to change into before the stains could set.

"You know," Gold said, sitting down to ease the boots off. "If I'd wanted someone to nag me about my whereabouts I'd find a wife."

Jefferson gave a snort of laughter at that.

"And when you find someone willing to deal with that, do let me know," he said. "I'd like to wish her the absolute best of luck."

"I think if I were looking you'd know by now," Gold grumbled. "Don't you have enough to do around here besides complain or should I fire the groom and let you deal with the horses?"

Jefferson shot Gold a withering glance in reply and pulled out some new clothes for him to change into.

"I trust your walk was fulfilling," Jefferson said with a sarcastic deference that was bordering on toxic levels.

This was why Gold liked his valet, honestly. Jefferson was a pain, but he didn't make any secret of how he felt about his employer. Gold knew from experience as a worker that when someone was willing to lie and flatter you, they were willing to lie about other things as well. Anyway, Jefferson was amusing if nothing else and gave Gold an outlet to keep his wits sharp.

"It was a walk," Gold said with a shrug. "I ran into Lord Maurice's daughter."

"Oh?" Jefferson said, his mood darkening a little at the mention. "How is she holding up?"

"Well, the rumors are certainly true," Gold said sadly. "Just about tripped over herself trying to get inside."

"That could just be your personality," Jefferson reminded him. "Still, though, such a pity. She had her whole life ahead of her. Wasn't she supposed to be married soon?"

"To her cousin," Gold replied. "The tall chap who came over for cards with his uncle once."

Mr. Gaston Knightley had spent the entire evening watching his uncle's cards like a hawk. Gold couldn't really blame him, he'd spent his life being groomed as the heir to Lord Maurice and the poor boy had to wonder now what would be left for him to inherit. The truth was, Maurice was in just as much debt as most of his class. Gold knew a fair few young Lords who were beginning to look abroad for their brides, rich American heiresses whose dowries could prop up all the ceremony that came with the titles. Others were taking whatever they could scrape together and dumping it into investments and hoping for the best. Maurice was doing whatever he could to raise funds (including investing heavily in Gold's fabric mills) but he was also deeply in debt.

In a way, the tragedy that befell Lady Belle was a blessing for her cousin as it would free him up to pursue one of those American heiresses whose father's had money practically falling out of their pockets. He might even be able to hide his cousin well enough from his bride that she wouldn't notice if he kept paying for Belle's upkeep. Frankly, the girl had been extremely lucky that she didn't have any siblings who needed to marry and that her father and cousin cared enough about her that she'd not been sent away. A pampered aristocrat's daughter didn't have many resources available to her in those situations, and Gold had a mental image of her as one of the painted ladies at a brothel. There was no way the girl he'd seen today could have survived – there was definitely no way she'd have developed any clientele besides those who enjoyed hurting her if what he'd seen today was an accurate reflection of her normal behavior now. The girl could barely stand to hold a conversation, he couldn't imagine anything more intimate than that would be within her capabilities for a long time yet. It really was a damn shame.

Hopefully, she had enough in her name to let her keep a house after her father passed.

"Oh!" Jefferson exclaimed, springing to a silver tray. "The mail came while you were gone. I put the rest in your office, but you've received a letter from your son."

Gold smiled at that, taking the envelope from Jefferson and examining it fondly. Letters from Neal were the highlight of his day when they occurred. The boy was very busy with running the factories (and Gold did understand how busy that could keep a man), so the fact that his son had taken time out of his day to write his father always touched him.

"Was there anything else of interest?" Gold asked as he changed into the new trousers Jefferson had gotten for him and slipped on a pair of shoes.

"Something from the bank," Jefferson replied. "And something from your solicitor. Nothing that looked too important, anyway. Although if you want someone to keep tabs on your correspondence maybe you should hire a man of business, or a butler."

"Would you rather I had a butler or a groom?" Gold asked idly, and was amused at how quickly Jefferson's mouth slammed shut.

They both knew that the move out here had technically been a promotion for Jefferson. He went from being a valet to being the only male servant in the house, leaving him performing the duties of butler and valet (and with the corresponding raise in pay). When Gold died – or if Jefferson got it in his head to leave – he'd be able to apply for work in a larger house as an underbutler or at the very least as a valet to someone who kept a larger house.

"I'm going to go see what I can do about these trousers," Jefferson replied quickly, taking the dirtied clothes with him as he trotted off to the laundry.

Gold smiled to himself, finding a seat near a window as he broke the seal on Neal's letter and settled in to read it. His boy was well, and as busy as he'd suspected. Neal also had hopes for a new contract to ship their fabric to the continent, which would allow for some expansion of the factories as well. Neal had it in his head to begin producing yarn and thread as well. This, of course, required more investors. Luckily, finding those had always been something his son excelled at. Gold couldn't have been more proud of the boy.

He leaned back and took in the view of the world outside. He really was lucky, all things considered. To come from where he'd begun to all of this…it was an incredible streak of good luck and hard work. People didn't leave the neighborhood in Glasgow he'd come from unless it was in shackles. His father certainly hadn't, anyway. Gold grimaced at the memory of the man, but felt a smug sense of self-satisfaction at it. If Malcolm Gold could see his son now, what would he think? Probably be livid that his useless son had managed to exceed his own father. Malcolm Gold had never had any particular fondness for his son or his wife, abandoning both for months at a time only to turn up once things had begun to settle into some sort of normalcy.

But it was far too pretty a day to let his thoughts linger on his father. The man had gone to the gallows years ago, and it was good riddance.

Instead, Gold felt his attentions running towards his neighbor's house and the girl contained within. He'd always been fond of Lady Belle French, but the woman he'd met this afternoon was so changed from the one he'd known that he was still having trouble reconciling the difference. There was also the little niggling of his conscience telling him he was no better than the neighborhood matrons who refused to visit the fallen woman, only to be personally offended when the girl had made no effort to take visitors. The rumors were rampant that she'd been a seductress intent on bettering her station by luring an Earl, conveniently ignoring that her father was a Viscount so the title wasn't _that_ different – and if anything, Lord Maurice was on slightly better financial footing than most men of his station were. He was a spendthrift, that was for sure, but he also understood the importance of investing and as a result actually _had_ an income – which was probably the main reason the marriage between Lady Belle and her cousin had been arranged to begin with. A man with no money had no room to make such demands of his heir.

Anyway, that was all a moot point now anyway. They'd been caught, and polite society had deemed her guilty of becoming that which they most hated and feared – fallen. He'd never particularly understood that fear, himself. Coming from where he had, prostitutes and tavern girls had flaunted whatever wares they had openly but not from any particular love of the act. They'd done it as a means of survival, nothing else. He'd found that he couldn't judge them for that, when he had been willing to do whatever he'd needed to make ends meet himself. Survival became a way of life in the slums, and there had been a reason his mother had guarded him so closely when he'd been a boy.

He found it particularly galling that she'd been judged guilty of an act that he didn't think she'd been a particularly willing accomplice in. Women who'd had a choice in the matter didn't look so very…hunted. Whatever had transpired between Lady Belle French and Keith, Earl of Nottingham couldn't be known but Gold had no doubt in his mind she hadn't had any particular interest in it occurring.

Gold had heard there had been a court case at one point, owing to the Earl having deflowered a virgin in a quite public fashion, but he hadn't heard much about it the last few months. Maybe they had decided to drop the suit. Perhaps that was something to ask Neal about. Neal always had his ear to the ground in London, and he would know the gossip about the case, as well. Gold hated to express such a lurid interest in the details, but Lord Maurice was one of their investors. He needed to stay abreast of the man's financial situation to the best of his ability, and also to remind Neal that any time spent attempting to court money from anyone associated with Nottingham may alienate Maurice. It was really just good business sense for him to keep on top of things, really.

Surely that was all it was, really – business. There wasn't any other good reason for him to care what befell Lady French, after all.


	3. Wishes

Belle should probably be happy her father was home again. He'd returned from London without really explaining why to her, but then he'd never really been one to explain things he termed "business" to her in the first place and was even more reluctant to do so now when he still hadn't quite figured out what sorts of things would leave her shaking uncontrollably. She really was feeling better than she had been the last time he'd seen her, although you wouldn't have known it from the way he had maids stalking her every move and how he watched her like a hawk at the dinner table as though he were afraid she'd take up a carving knife and plunge it into her chest right there. Granted, there had been a time those fears were not entirely unfounded but she really _was_ trying to be better.

She'd taken up strolls in the yard (and had been forced to accept a parasol to keep the peace with her father) after her breakdown on the wedding day. She measured her success at getting better by how often walking turned into pacing, and she was now only going into those sorts of states every two or three days, and she was learning to accept the small victories. Getting out of bed in the morning before someone came along to force her out had become an accomplishment, not thinking about what had happened to her was an accomplishment, and not visibly flinching away from the footmen if they had to ask her a question had become her largest victory to date. The poor boys had been forced to learn to stand a good ten feet away from her if they needed to ask a question and to never come up behind her where she couldn't see them.

Having her father back may not have been for the best, though. Maurice brought along with him all her old troubles. He had finally agreed to press a suit against the man who had hurt her, but she could see it was killing him to do it. Initially, both he and Gaston had been of the opinion she should accept the proposal that had been offered to her as though she could forget what he had done to her – as though it had been a forgivable offense and with a little time and patience they could have a happy marriage in spite of it.

She hated that man more than she had ever hated anything or anyone in her life, and she would hold that hate close to her heart and let it slowly turn her hard if that's what it took. She certainly wouldn't ever put herself in a position to be vulnerable to him again. She wasn't going to be vulnerable to any man ever, if she had her way. The old Belle had been too soft and too kind to kick up a fuss when he'd come for her, this Belle wasn't that stupid or that trusting.

That, perhaps, was the thing that Belle would go to her grave hating everyone for – for letting her be soft and kind and ignorant. She resented her father and Gaston for not preparing her for the chance that a man might hurt her. She despised society for telling her it was her fault. She loathed everyone who had walked in on it when it had been too late to save her. There were times she wanted nothing more than to burn the whole world and dance in the ashes. She wanted to destroy like she'd been destroyed.

Even poor Mr. Gold, whose only crime had been coming across her when she was upset and raising her hopes with the idea that she might someday be able to carry on a conversation with a man wasn't spared from her wrath. She saw him sometimes. He still took his walks past her garden, though he hadn't dared to speak to her since she'd run off the last time. He'd wave sometimes and sometimes she would wave back, because a lifetime of training to be polite wasn't going to go away overnight and also because she sometimes wished he'd come speak to her again. She'd been so close to having a proper conversation with him, she wanted to see if she could complete it now. Being able to carry on an entire conversation would be a measurable improvement, something she could point to and remind herself that she was getting better.

She wouldn't let herself be destroyed, but it was so hard not to when everyone else seemed hell bent on reminding her of how damaged she'd been. Belle knew she'd been broken before. She knew that better than anyone, really. No one else had been in her mind when she'd been bedridden for six weeks – or in the dark days leading up to that.

It was the memories of those early months that kept her from fully letting her guard down for anyone, but especially her father. She could tell the court case she'd wanted wasn't going well. Her father seemed tired now, drawn into himself. Her deepest fear, beyond even being a victim again, was that this was killing her father. He wasn't a young man anymore, and his health had always been precarious. She'd been the one to insist on pressing the issue, and she wasn't sure how to tell him to stop now.

The damn lawsuit was taking so long, and costing so much money. Before all of this had happened, Belle had been used to keeping her father's accounts. She knew better than almost anyone what his finances looked like. She wasn't sure how much longer he could honestly keep this up – primarily because running the household was a job that had been taken from her while she convalesced and hadn't ever been reinstated. Not that she could focus for more than five minutes at a time anyway, but she missed being useful. She missed having something to do beyond embroidery and walking.

She saw Mr. Gold as she approached her house. He was leaving, and she paused for a minute, lurking in the garden while she could watch him leave. He didn't terrify her, she decided. Most men scared her now (and he did a little bit) but she found him easier to be around than most men. He caught sight of her and she fought her instinct to dodge behind a trellis. She would be brave, and she would stand her ground.

Mr. Gold waved to her and she waved back, waiting with a pounding heart until he was out of sight before she carefully retreated to the relative safety of her house. Her father was waiting for her in the sitting room, a grimace on his face.

Belle tried to sneak past, but he was waiting for her.

"Belle," he called out. "Can you come in here?"

She nodded, walking into the room as carefully as if the floor were coated with broken glass. She didn't think her father would do anything to her, she was just completely unable to control the fear that was slowly creeping up her spine.

"Yes, Papa?"

"We've received another reply from Nottingham," he said bluntly, handing a piece of paper to her. "He'll expect an answer soon."

Belle wished she was wearing gloves, as the idea of touching this paper that Nottingham had touched was making her skin crawl. She held it gingerly between her fingertips and scanned the text.

He had proposed again. She should be distraught, and she knew her father was prepared for her to become hysterical. She just felt numb, though. Numb and tired and beyond caring.

"My answer is the same as last time," Belle replied as steadily as she could. "I don't want anything to do with him."

"I know you don't," her father said, sounding as though she were an easily startled bird. "But if you're going to keep refusing him it's going to keep this all dragging out my...dear."

She felt face flushing and her pulse racing at how close he'd come to using the old endearment, but he'd caught himself and she could be okay. She just had to keep focused. She wasn't there, she wasn't there anymore. She'd never be there again.

"I don't care," she replied. "I just can't, Papa. I can barely look at him."

"You'll have to testify," he said at last. "Sooner or later, if this keeps going you're going to have to testify."

"I'll deal with that when I need to," she replied, crumpling the proposal letter to disguise the shaking of her hands. "If I need to."

Her father didn't look as though he believed her, but she scarcely believed herself.

Belle turned and fled the room, needing to leave before she had to spend too much more time thinking about being forced to marry Nottingham. She could feel the air trying to squeeze out of her lungs, and she rushed to her room trying so hard to hold herself together until she got there.

She locked the door behind herself, taking up her pacing across the floor at the foot of her bed until her legs ached and her nerves had settled. He couldn't touch her anymore. She was safe. She wasn't there anymore. Her father would protect her, Gaston would never kick her out, and she would never be at the mercy of the Earl of Nottingham again.

Belle fought the urge to dig out one of her weapons before giving up and diving for the kitchen knife she kept hidden under her pillow. It was strange how something could be so beautiful and so hard. She traced the blade with her finger, admiring the coolness of the metal and the way the blade felt dangerous underneath her skin. The slightest bit of pressure would break her skin, spilling the blood inside of her.

Her skin felt too tight now, crawling across her bones and she wanted to explode. She dragged her thumb across the blade firmly, savoring the feel of splitting skin and blood flowing out of it. She watched as it flowed down to her palm and spilled down her wrist.

She suddenly snapped back to herself, setting the knife on the duvet and wrapping a handkerchief around her thumb. She rushed over to the vanity, pouring some water from the pitcher into a bowl. The water turned brown with the blood. When her hand was clean, she wrapped the handkerchief back around her thumb and held it tightly.

She shouldn't have done that. It was a stupid idea, and had done nothing to hurt anyone besides herself. Belle had no idea what she'd been thinking, but at least she hadn't cut too deep. Now she couldn't even try to distract herself with embroidery, though, and she'd be left to her own thoughts.

Stupid.

She sighed deeply, curling up on the window seat and gazing out across the yard. In the stories, there was always a Prince Charming to save the princess from her fate. Belle would have died for a Prince Charming now. She needed someone to take up her cause because she was so tired. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, one of the heroines who could wait for her happy ending to fall into her lap.

Belle didn't even need a prince and a castle, really. Her dreams had become so much smaller now. She just wanted a home and a place to be safe. She wanted to not jump when she saw strangers and to stop being afraid all the time. All that had been stolen from her, she'd lost her very self this past year and she honestly had no idea how to go about recovering it, or if she even wanted to. Her old self had been the one to be vulnerable, after all, the one who had let herself be hurt. She didn't want to risk that again.

She just wanted to stop hurting, was that really so big a wish?


	4. Decent Proposals

As he left the French home, Gold felt his mood turning sour. Maurice had, of course, wanted to borrow money. This wasn't altogether an uncommon occurrence, but this was rather a larger amount than previously and Gold didn't really think the other man could cover it.

Just until the lawsuit ended, he'd said. Apparently, it cost more than Maurice had anticipated to sue a peer of the realm for deflowering your virgin daughter, especially when said peer kept offering to marry the daughter in question. Maurice was taking that as a sign that Nottingham was just as strapped for cash as he was and that the whole thing would be over with sooner rather than later.

Gold wasn't quite as optimistic about everything turning out well as the other man. For one thing, if they were already sure that Nottingham was low on funds then what precisely they hoped to get for the lady's stolen virtue was quite beyond him. Then, of course, there were Neal's occasional reports on town gossip in his letters. The lad was ecstatic about being accepted to one of the most fashionable clubs in London for young men, and with entry had come access to the chatter of the sort of men whose fathers held seats in parliament. Evidently, people were becoming sick of thinking about any of it and simply wanted Lady Belle to accept the proposal and vanish into one of Nottingham's country estates so they could all pretend like nothing had ever happened.

Usually, Gold would have simply shrugged and let Maurice continue to make his own choices except if Maurice was going to ruin himself socially and financially that could have definite ramifications to Gold's business. This was a matter that would need to be handled with some delicacy.

Gold had begged off, saying he'd have an answer after returning from a trip to London to meet with some potential investors. He hadn't initially planned on attending the meeting with Neal – though he'd been invited – but now he needed to buy some time to decide on a course of action regarding the French's. He was fond enough of Lady Belle, but he wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of taking up her banner. He'd fought his own battles in life and he wasn't some young buck desperate to prove himself the hero of the fair maiden. Mostly, he just wanted to retire to the country to spend his life in relative comfort.

London, however, proved to be more illuminating than he'd expected it to be.

The first day in town had been fairly standard, settling into the townhouse he kept there (which Neal had mostly taken over rather than keeping bachelor's quarters) and visiting the factory. There he felt back in his element amidst the hum of the machinery and the movement on the floor. This factory had been his life blood, and now it was Neal's.

Neal seemed to have a good grasp of the business side of things, but Gold had always been the most comfortable in his office in the factory. It was the place that had always felt the most like home.

His son was conducting a tour for the potential investors (mostly men his own age though there were a few younger faces in attendance), and Gold decided to tag along.

"Where are the men?" one of the older gentlemen asked after a little while. "All your floor managers are women."

Gold watched his son intently – this particular feature of the factory could be a hard sell to the more traditionally minded gentlemen and he wanted to see how Neal handled it.

"That's the thing that makes the factory unique," Neal replied. "As you may or may not know, women make up a large percentage of textile workers while the management staff tends to be male. In our factory, we strictly hire women for the floor work even though men make up the upper levels of management."

There was a hum of whispers spreading between the men before one of them spoke again.

"And what is the reason for depriving a man of a livelihood?"

"We're not depriving men of anything," Neal explained calmly. "We've found that the women tend to work harder when their supervisors are women, with fewer interruptions in productivity. Women foremen are also less likely to drink on the job as well. And every one of our floor managers is supporting a family of her own – most are widows, although at least one is supporting invalid parents and a young sister after her brother's death."

"Of course," Gold broke in. "We uphold the highest moral requirements for our girls as well. We're not a haven for unwed mothers after all. And there are still plenty of men employed in packing and shipping and they are kept very carefully separated while at work with the women coming and leaving hour before the men do."

The more scandalized sounding whispers had died off, though there seemed to be a few of the gentlemen who took exception to the implication that being fondled at her job might distract an otherwise competent worker and Gold mentally ticked those men off as potential investors. This happened every time, and it never got less frustrating, though he was really more concerned with how Neal handled it than anything else. The boy had done well, neither apologizing nor making any promises of things changing. This method had worked for them, and he had no desire to shake things up for the sake of pleasing a handful of men who were looking for a reason not to invest.

The tour went well enough after that, and by the end of the day Gold was fairly certain Neal had secured at least four new investors with a couple more who seemed to need more time to consider. The boy's dream of opening new plants and new markets seemed on the cusp of becoming a reality.

"So did I meet your expectations?" Neal asked wryly, sitting behind the desk that had been his father's with his feet on the wood. "Live up to the Gold name?"

"You tell me," Gold replied with a shrug. "How much more financing do you need to secure?"

"With the ones from today I'm about three-quarters of the way there," Neal said off-handedly. "So that's ahead of schedule, at least. I still have to look into shipping companies, God help me, and a few other things. The financing was always the major roadblock, though."

"It often is."

The two men fell into a comfortable silence for a little while, Neal staring out into space as Gold rubbed a thumb over the gold handle of his walking stick.

"You need a project," Neal said after a moment, having apparently been watching his father a bit more closely than Gold had realized. "You're going absolutely stir crazy out in the country."

"And you know this how?"

"I know you," Neal replied. "And I've read your letters. You're going to go barking mad locked up in that house all by yourself."

"I keep busy."

"No you don't," Neal replied. "You're doing nothing but the papers and my letters."

"And going on walks," Gold said with a smile.

"And going on walks," Neal agreed. "And scaring the young ladies and getting far too involved in your neighbor's business affairs. You need to tell Lord Maurice no and mind your own business. What happened to Lady Belle was terrible, but throwing money at the problem won't fix it."

Neal was right. He was young, and he didn't know what his father did, but he was right. There wasn't fixing any of it.

Neal wanted to show off to his father, so the evening was to be spent in Neal's new social club. Gold knew he wouldn't like it almost instantly. It was highly fashionable, which meant it was populated by men his son's age with too much money and free time. For many, they were experiencing their first bit of freedom without a father to mind their money for them and the result was a raucous group playing cards and drinking far too much. Gold, of course, belonged to a club (they were essential places for forming social relationships with wealthy men) but it was mostly men his own age drinking brandy and smoking cigars away from their wives. He had absolutely no interest in this sort of spectacle, but Neal was proud and he could spend one evening in annoyance if it made his son happy.

Soon enough, he found himself drawn into a game of cards with a group of men who were becoming more and more intoxicated as the night wore on. Being the one sober man at a table was something Gold would never argue against, and he had acquired a fairly sizable pile of winnings when another couple of men arrived.

"Nottingham!" one of the drunken fellows who had lost his allowance to Gold exclaimed at the new arrival. "Lend a fellow a few pounds, will you? I've got to win my money back!"

So this was the Earl of Nottingham, then. Gold hadn't seen this one up close before – his father had only died a year or two ago and the son had been kept largely from the public eye before then. He was a rather large fellow, taller than Gold at least. He was also already quite drunk and Gold wondered how many other stops he'd made this evening.

"No can do," the other man replied. "I'm here on my bachelor party!"

This resulted in a round of cheers from the assembled and Gold felt his chest tighten. So the lady had finally capitulated, then. It was really for the best, after all. Marriage would secure Lady Belle's finances and she had no other prospects besides the one sitting in front of him right now.

"She's finally accepted you then, eh?" one of the other men exclaimed, slapping Nottingham on the back jovially. "Took her long enough."

"Not yet," Nottingham replied. "But it's inevitable at this point and I don't intend to waste a blessed second of freedom."

"She'll come around," another man supplied. "You know how these ladies can be, they always like to decline at least once before they accept – they like to make you work for it."

"This one's the hardest to get I've ever seen," Nottingham said. "It was damn near impossible to pin her down."

This attempted double entendre (which was honestly barely beyond a single entendre) resulted in an eruption of laughter from the assembled, and Gold was fighting to remain calm in the face of his dislike of the bastard. Even if this was a proper engagement and the girl wasn't currently involved in a lawsuit against him it would have been completely inappropriate to discuss her this way. The fact that she'd been engaged to someone else and ruined by him really put it beyond the pall, and Gold felt his temper flaring.

"I do hate to interrupt," Gold said after a moment. "But I do believe we were still playing cards. Are you in or are you out?"

There was a chorus of acceptances and refusals as some men gathered up what little of their coin they had left and stood. Thankfully, Nottingham was among the ones who chose to stay. It would be a pleasure to take all his money – maybe he'd set it in a pile by itself and lend that to Maurice later.

Nottingham proved to be most unpleasant company, which incidentally made it even more delightful to empty his purse. The man continued making lewd comments and poor bets, and by the end of the night Gold had amassed quite a tidy sum.

By the time the conversation moved to mimicking the Lady Belle begging for more on her wedding night, Gold was fairly certain he'd heard quite enough. Something really had to be done.

He made his excuses and summoned a servant to assist him in packing up his winnings into a manageable pile so he could leave. He had Nottingham down to betting cufflinks and stickpins, anyway, he'd done a fair job of tapping that particular well dry.

That night, sleep didn't come easy to Gold. He was haunted by nightmares of things he'd rather forget – the sound of a woman's screams, a mother who couldn't look him in the eye, the way a room could darken with a person's presence – and in the morning he'd made a decision that he was fairly sure was a bad one, but damn him there were some things that couldn't be borne and that _shouldn't have to be_ borne.

He didn't tell Neal, because he didn't expect his son to understand. Neal had been raised so that he'd never have to fear the things his father feared.

The ride back to the country took the better part of the day, and he didn't even waste time stopping at home before he rode to the French's door. It was early evening – far too late for calling, but as he suspected Maurice didn't begrudge him the hour and he was admitted freely to the drawing room.

"Mr. Gold," Maurice said in greeting. "I take it you've had time to think about my request?"

"I have," Gold said, taking a deep breath. "And I have a counter offer."

He watched Maurice carefully. The other man didn't say anything and looked wary, but he didn't object when Gold continued.

"This lawsuit is going nowhere," Gold said matter-of-factly. "I ran into the young earl on my trip and you'll have to believe me when I say he has every intention of marrying your daughter."

"She won't have him," Maurice replied defiantly. "And I won't make her."

"No, I didn't think she would," Gold said. "But that does severely limit your prospects in this case. You already owe me several thousand pounds, and I'm sure I'm not your only creditor. You simply can't outlast him and even if you could I doubt you'd get back what you'd put into it."

"So what do you expect me to do?" Maurice asked. "He defiled my daughter – he _hurt_ her. The money would be to secure her future."

"I'm here to propose a third option," Gold replied. "I'll marry her, and in exchange I'll forgive your debts to me."

That had clearly not been what Maurice had expected to hear. His face had gone red and his fists were clenching at his sides at the mere suggestion. Which, granted, was a better reaction than Gold had truly anticipated when he'd come here.

"Before you have me thrown out," Gold said as calmly as he could. "Might I suggest we ask the young lady, since this does concern her future rather more than yours?"

Maurice still looked appalled, but he still rang for a servant to summon the Lady Belle.

She was thinner than she'd been last time Gold had seen her up close, and she still wore the dark circles under her eyes that had developed since she'd been in the country. Her face wasn't as waxy as it had been, though, so perhaps she looked a bit healthier.

"Darling," Maurice said in a tone of voice that suggested he was speaking to an easily confused child rather than a grown woman. "Mr. Gold has come here to make you an offer."

"What is it?" she was instantly on edge as she looked at him, and Gold found he could respect her suspicion and lack of regard for politeness. She was blunt about her distrust, and that was a nice change of pace.

"You may know that your father asked me for a loan to finance your lawsuit," Gold said and the way her eyes darted to her father with concern told him that in fact she had not known this. "Your father already owes me a great deal of money, and frankly I don't think you have a chance of winning if the earl has offered to marry you."

She looked like he'd struck her and he hated to be the one to give her that look of shocked betrayal, but lying to her would defeat the purpose of his visit which was to save her.

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Gold," she said frostily but with a little tremor to her voice. "But I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's not yet," he replied. "But as your father said I've come to make you an offer. If you marry me, I'll forgive your father's debt and you'll be safe from the earl."

"What?!" she exclaimed sharply, looking between the men. "Papa, how could you?"

"He's agreed to nothing," Gold said before Maurice could defend himself. "This is between you and me."

She had that hunted look on her face now, the one she'd worn the last time he'd seen her up close as though he were coming to eat her alive and she wasn't sure she'd be able to escape. She was practically gasping for air and he was on the verge of trying to offer her a seat when she darted from the room. He heard the door slamming and then she was gone.

Maurice collapsed into a seat and put his hand over his face.

"You see," he said. "She can't marry anyone. She can barely be in a room with anyone else, and she spends all day in the damn garden. He's ruined her, Gold. I don't just mean physically, I mean he ruined _her._"

"We'll see about that," Gold grumbled.

"Where are you going?" Maurice exclaimed.

"I'm going to propose," Gold replied as he stalked out the door.

She was precisely where he'd thought she'd be – pacing through the garden as though she were afraid to stop.

"Lady Belle," he called out while he was still standing away from her.

She jumped and spun around, but didn't trip into the roses this time which he counted as a success. She was still staring at him as though she were terrified, but she didn't run. Grimacing, he hefted the shaft of his cane into the palm of his hand and limped over to where he could hold it out to her.

"What's that for?" she asked warily.

"Just take it," he said. "I can't walk very well without it and this way you have something to hit me with if I startle you. And your father is just inside the house, probably watching us now actually."

She smiled a little bit now and reached out to take the cane from him, holding it at her side rather than at the ready.

"I can't marry you," she said softly. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"And may I ask why?"

He sat on a nearby bench and watched her. Usually it was unforgivably rude for a gentleman to take a seat while a lady remained standing, but she relaxed a little bit more having him in a worse position to approach her.

She fidgeted twirling his cane between her palms a little and for a moment he was afraid she wouldn't speak.

"I'm ruined," she said after a little while.

"So I've heard," he replied. "Anything else?"

She blinked in shock, as though it had never occurred to her that anyone might still want her after what had happened.

"I can't…" she took a deep breath. "My children would be social outcasts. You'd not get good heirs from me."

"I already have an heir," he replied. "And he's of an age where it's his turn to start worrying about getting more. I'm not really in the market for extras."

She looked away from him with such a sense of shame on her face he was compelled to offer her some sort of comfort.

"Besides," he continued. "I divorced my first wife for adultery and desertion. If I were to suddenly need a new heir you would hardly be the major dilemma they would face. Anyway, the rules are different when there aren't titles involved. They'd have money, they'd be fine."

She had turned back to him in shock at his confession, but now she was biting her lip in something besides fear and he could work with that.

"I can barely be in a room with other people," she replied at last. "I'm not able to be a hostess or move in society."

"How much society do you think I keep?" he asked her. "I moved here to retire and I don't need a hostess. I need someone to help run the house, mostly. I understand you can do that, at least."

"I can," she admitted and he saw something like hope start to creep across her face before another thought seemed to squash it. "But I don't think I can be a _wife_…like that."

"Oh," he said as calmly as he could. "I don't really need one, to be frank. I need a companion, someone to keep me company during the day and to make sure that things are running smoothly. I just live next door, you'd hardly notice the move – you could even continue your walks in this garden for all I care."

The sun was starting to set and it occurred to him then that he'd never really noticed how pretty Lady Belle French was. Her alabaster skin took on the rosy tint of the light overhead and her dark hair played shadows across her face. She was beautiful.

"Do you mean it?" she said, taking a seat beside him. "Just company and nothing else?"

"You have my word," he replied. "This can be a mutually beneficial arrangement, my dear. You need a home and I can give you that. I need someone to help run the house and maybe to get my son used to dealing with ladies before he makes an ass of himself on the marriage market and I don't know anyone better qualified. Besides, you're a clever girl. I'm sure you'll be a delightful conversationalist."

She smiled at him at the compliment, and it was a delicate thing he wished he could capture and keep with himself forever. He'd never felt better about himself than he did in that moment when he was so close to being her hero.

"Why me, though?" she asked him. "I mean, if you're looking for a mother to your son surely a widow would be a better choice and if you want a young wife then there are plenty of girls my age who still have reputations to protect who would be able to…be with you. Like that."

She blushed a little and turned away from him again and he wished he could bring the smile back now that it was gone. It had been such a fleeting thing.

"I like you," he said. "Granted, we don't know each other much better than most, but even when you were a girl I could tell you were intelligent and witty. Besides, I might have to leave my backyard if I wanted to meet someone else – possibly even go to another county. This is far more convenient."

Her eyes widened in shock as she turned to look at him. He offered her a wry smile and she burst into laughter. It was a beautiful sound, and by the time she was done he was surprised to realize she'd been crying before, the tears still visible on her face.

"Alright," she said at last. "I'll marry you, Mr. Gold."

"Call me Rhys," he replied. "If we're to be married and all. You might as well know my first name."

"Rhys," she said softly. "I like it."

"Normally these sorts of things are sealed with a kiss," he said. "Would you settle for a handshake instead, given the circumstances?"

She let out a sweet little giggle again and nodded, holding her hand out for him to take. He resisted the urge to bend to kiss it, instead giving her a soft shake.

"I suppose I should go inside and let Papa know," she said with a little sniffle. "He's been so worried about me."

"I suppose you should," he replied. "Would you like me to come with you?"

"No," she said. "No, thank you, Mr. Gol – Rhys. I'm sure this won't be an easy thing for him to hear."

"Go on, then," he said, taking his cane back from her. "I'll let you get into the house before I stand."

She gave him a peculiar little look, but just nodded before turning and walking away.

And just like that, Gold was engaged.


	5. Past & Future

So Belle was to be a bride after all. Her father had taken the news better than she had expected, simply asking her if she were _sure_ after she'd informed him that she'd accepted the proposal. It broke her heart to see him so scared for her, and she didn't want him to be. She wanted him to be happy and hopeful for her future so she'd smiled until her cheeks hurt and said yes, she was very sure and that Mr. Gold had promised not to take her from the neighborhood so she'd be there whenever he wanted to visit. Mr. Gold had promised no such thing, but she just couldn't bring herself to tell her father what he _had_ promised her and she didn't think her future husband would want to take his wife, the fallen woman who jumped at loud noises, into society.

"Alright then," her papa had said, taking a deep breath and bearing up. "If this is what you want then I'll not have anyone looking down on you for it."

He'd spent the rest of the evening locked in his study writing letters announcing the union to their closest friends and family in glowing terms. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he might actually be happy for her.

Her father hadn't been happy for her in months.

It wasn't until that night as she lay in her bed that she was forced to face the hard truth: she was to be a wife. Belle had been scared when he'd proposed, a husband was a man who would own her body, after all. She hadn't quite realized what that meant until this last year, but now she was more than aware of it.

She had been naive before, but she wasn't now. She had no reputation to speak of, and without a husband she would at some point be completely unprotected were she to go out into the world. She knew that Mr. Gold (_Rhys_, she mentally corrected) had a reputation as a man of his word, and he had promised not to touch her. It had been a risk to accept him, but it would have been a bigger risk not to.

Beyond that, though, he had taken great pains to make her feel comfortable with him and to set her at ease. He'd also been honest with her about the trial. Her father had been lying and Rhys had been honest. She was better now - or, at least better than she had been - and she wanted to be treated like an adult. She wanted to be allowed to run a household again and try to be as normal as possible. Maybe then she could stop having nightmares and go back into libraries.

Gaston came down from the city that week and he and her father locked themselves up in the office for hours that day. He sought Belle out in the garden afterward, hugging her just like old times (hopefully not quite noticing she was stiffer than she used to be in his arms) before falling into step beside her.

"How are you?" he asked sincerely.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Truly, I am."

"You're not…" he looked away from her for a moment, as though unable to face her. "Nobody's pressuring you into anything?"

"No," she said softly, knowing exactly who he meant by _nobody_. "If anything, he's been more than patient and exceptionally kind."

And he had been. Rhys had called on her properly twice since she accepted his proposal, never staying long enough to overwhelm her and always asking if she'd like to take a stroll. She was growing to like him, which gave her a great deal of hope for their future happiness. She _wanted_ to like him, because the alternative was too awful to contemplate.

Gaston was silent for a few moments, walking alongside her quietly as though it were just like old times and they were still engaged. Suddenly he kicked a stray stone and gave a loud shout that had her jumping back.

"I'm so sorry, Belle," he said angrily, tension radiating off of him. "I should have protected you. I shouldn't have let you go off alone. None of this ever should have happened."

This was uncharted territory for Belle. In the first weeks after, she'd been too upset to really pay attention to him and by the time she was able to come out of that he'd been withdrawn and so had she. It hadn't really occurred to her he might feel guilt about her situation, but she was also entirely at a loss as to how to comfort him. Her heart was fluttering in her chest and she was having a hard time being near him with her every impulse screaming _run_.

He turned to face her and apparently saw the terror on her face, because he instantly took a step back and held his hands where she could see them, all the anger in him seeming to evaporate into a deep sadness.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I just hate that this happened."

"I'm alright," she lied, still watching him warily. "And it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have gone off alone."

"You didn't even want to accept the invitation to the house party," he replied. "And you didn't do anything wrong. Nottingham's to blame for that. I just...I should have stayed with you and not been playing parlor games while it was all going on. You never liked him and I never knew why."

"There's no changing any of it now," she said at last. "And I'll be married soon, and then we can all put it behind us."

He nodded, as though willing himself to believe she was right.

"Your father wants me to go to America," he said. "He thinks I should find an heiress there and bring her back to marry."

So that's what this was all about, then. He felt guilty about her being hurt and now he felt guilty he had to marry someone else.

"That's a good idea," she replied, trying to sound more sincere than she felt. "Lord knows the estate needs the money."

And that his reputation had been tarnished by his association with her, and that nobody of quality wanted to marry their daughter into a family that had someone of Belle's reputation in it. But soon, she would be Mrs. Gold and could be hidden away from a bride who hadn't known of the whole torrid affair.

"You'll be alright, though?" he asked her. "I worry if I'm away there won't be anyone to stand for you."

"The wedding is in a month," Belle reminded him. "I won't be yours to stand for, Gaston."

She hadn't been his for months, after all. Their engagement had been broken by mutual agreement not long after she was hurt and she had been on her own since.

"You were mine to protect," he replied sadly. "You have been since we were children. I'm sorry I failed you, Belle."

She had nothing to say to that, and eventually he nodded and moved past her into the house. How could she absolve him when she hated absolutely everyone?

Belle had fetched a basket of embroidery from inside and was sitting on the garden bench working on a handkerchief when Rhys found her.

"Lady Belle," he called out while he was still a distance away. "Your father said you were outside."

She looked up, setting her embroidery on the bench next to her and getting to her feet. She was grateful for his interruption.

"Mr. Gold," she greeted him. "I didn't expect to see you today."

"I brought you something," he replied, coming forward slowly. "It just arrived today."

"Did you?"

She didn't like surprises, but if she held herself very still she'd almost seem like she wasn't on edge wouldn't she?

"It's a ring," he said in a rush, reaching into his pocket and removing a jewelry box which he held out to her. "For you."

She reached out and took the box herself, opening it to reveal a beautiful gold and sapphire ring.

"It's beautiful," she said honestly. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he replied. "Just an engagement token. I wasn't even able to choose it myself, to be honest. I had my son send it."

For some reason, the idea that he would tell her son not just about her but about this engagement hadn't even occurred to Belle.

"May I ask you a question?" she said, taking the ring out of the box and fidgeting with it. "How does your son feel about this?"

His lips were pressed into a thin line and his face took on a somber look.

"I won't say he's pleased," he replied. "But he bears you no ill will."

She didn't know why she was glad to hear that his son wasn't happy about the wedding, but she was. She'd been coddled and sheltered her entire life, but especially these last few months it had gotten to the point where she couldn't trust anything anyone told her as being the truth. At least he was honest with her. He'd been honest about the loans to her father, he'd been honest about his opinion of the trial, and now he was being honest about his son. She didn't have to like what he said to appreciate that he was saying it.

"Does he know about...me?" she asked after a little bit, though she dreaded the answer. "My situation, I mean."

"He does," he replied simply. "He's the one who told me."

"Oh," said, feeling her face flushing with no ability to control it. "I can't say I blame him for being wary, then."

She'd half hoped for a fresh start, but she was a little ashamed now that she'd even dared to dream for that. Of course his son would know of her - everyone knew of her now, and there was no sense in pretending otherwise. God, he must think the worst of her. First she was ruined and now she was marrying a man she barely knew, a man her father owed money to. She must look like she'd seduced Rhys for his money and thrown herself at Nottingham for the title.

"Hey," Rhys said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "It's alright. He's angry at me, not you."

"Why would he be angry at you?"

"He has a business project he's been working on," Rhys explained. "He's in the final stages of finding investors and he's a little worried about the scandal."

She wasn't sure what to say to him. He'd proposed to her knowing this. Of course there would be a scandal to involving himself with her. Why would he do that?

"We can postpone the wedding," she said finally. "Or call it off entirely. I'd hate to cause any tension with your son."

Her reputation was already ruined, really. What could another broken engagement do to it?

"Oh no," he replied easily. "Don't worry about Neal. He'll come around once he's met you and put a face to the name. Anyway, there are always men looking for a reason not to invest in any business. This will just help expedite the process."

She didn't know if she believed him, but then he'd built a business empire before she was born. She was trusting him with her safety, she would learn to trust him with this.

"Do you want to try the ring on?" he asked her. "If it's not to your liking, we can get another one."

She realized she'd been holding it in her clenched fist since she removed it from the box and held it up to the light.

"No, it's lovely," she said quickly. "I'm sorry, it's just a lot to take in. And I've never worn a betrothal ring before."

"Haven't you?"

"I had my mother's to wear for Gaston," she said with a shrug. "But it felt so strange to see it on my hand that I left it in a jewelry box most of the time."

And soon she would see it on the finger of some American girl she'd never met. The thought of it tugged at her heart in ways she hadn't quite expected. She had thought herself beyond being hurt anymore, and her heart was still so raw that even this small injury felt like it could draw blood.

"Here," he said, tucking his cane under his arm and moving towards her slowly. "Let me?"

She handed him the ring and held her hand out. He took it gently and she realized that aside from catching her before she could plummet into the rose bushes and shaking her hand on their engagement, he'd never actually touched her before. It was strange to think that she would be marrying a man who she had such little contact with. She knew intellectually that many marriages had less than this to start, but she'd known Gaston since they were children and now she would marry a veritable stranger instead.

He held her hand gently and she could have pulled it away at any moment if she'd wanted to. She stayed where she was, though. He was smaller than Gaston and smaller than Nottingham and this thought comforted her a little. He didn't tower over her in quite the same way, and there was room to breathe around him. It wasn't quite safety - and she wasn't quite sure she'd ever feel safe again - but it was close kin to that elusive feeling, a sort of shelter in a storm.

He was gentler still as he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand to rest there.

"And what became of your mother's ring after your engagement broke?" he asked her conversationally. "Still in that jewelry box?"

"No," she said as she shook her head. "It's part of my father's family jewels. They belong to the estate, not to me. The ring will go to Gaston's wife."

"And you'll have nothing of her, then?"

"I have a necklace," she replied. "She brought it with her into the marriage. I never take it off."

"Good," he said. "That's good."

They stood there for a little while with her hand in his and she counted heartbeats to see how long she could remain close to him before she had to pull away. Her blood was rushing in her ears, but her heart hadn't started to pound yet when he dropped her hand and stepped away.

"I'm afraid I must be going," he said softly. "But I'll call on you again tomorrow, if that would be alright."

"I'd like that," she replied. "Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow, my lady."

She watched him retreat for a little while, not sitting and picking up her embroidery again until he'd rounded the corner of the house. She felt like she had a lot to think about, but her thoughts were buzzing around her head so chaotically that she could make heads nor tails of any of them. All she knew was that when he had said he had to leave she had, for a moment, wished he didn't.


	6. Lady's Maid

In a way, Milah having left him was a blessing in disguise for Gold, or at least it was as far as this second wedding went. There was no question at all that Lady Belle French would become Mrs. Rhys Gold at a registry office rather than a church, sparing both of them the approbation of the neighborhood. He wasn't quite sure whether society at large had decided he was a perverted old man or if she were a brazen harlot, or if the public consensus was that both were true. Either way, he wasn't sure the poor girl would be able to handle that large a crowd at the best of times never mind when she was already on edge and the crowd was waiting for her to slip up.

The registry office wedding also meant that rather than dedicating time to planning and inviting guests, he was able to spend that time getting her used to him being in close proximity. He'd made such a point of calling on her daily, refusing any invitations his son made to visit. He'd never declined a visit to his son before, but he wasn't sure he wanted to face Neal yet.

Suffice to say, the younger Mr. Gold was not pleased with his father's new plan. Not that he really blamed his son for that – at the end of this Rhys Gold would have a wife and his son would have to explain his brand new mother to a society that wanted nothing to do with her. The fact that Neal and Belle were of an age really didn't help endear his son to the concept at all.

He was a solid twenty years older than his future bride, and that was just a little bit terrifying. He'd not spent much time dealing with women her age since he'd _been_ her age.

Maybe he should have put more thought into this entire idiotic plan, but after having met the man she' have been forced into marrying otherwise...Nottingham reminded Gold far too much of his own father for him to let the bastard get his hands on Belle again. Had she been a willing accomplice in her own ruin, he still probably would have offered for her anyway. He'd seen her entire life flashing before his eyes that night at the club, and had found himself in the position of actually being able to do something to save her from that fate. He didn't expect Neal to understand and he didn't really want Neal to understand, he just wanted to keep the boy from trying to talk him out of it until it was too late.

Gold was a little surprised at how much he enjoyed her company, though. Belle French had always been a clever girl, so he'd had hope of her being a decent companion. She was still wary of him, still jumping at shadows to a certain extent – but there would be moments when she almost seemed to forget to be afraid and in those moments he knew he'd made a good choice. She was witty and smart as a whip. She would laugh at his jokes and offer her own little asides before the clouds inside would return to obscure her sunshine.

The hardest thing to remember was not to push her. He had to let her come to him as much as possible. While it wasn't considered proper for her to visit his home unaccompanied, when he visited her he had to make it a point not to approach her when they were inside at all, staying clear across the room unless she moved towards him. She sometimes would wander within arm's reach, but never for long and he'd never so much as sat on the same settee as her. Outside, she had fewer problems. She seemed far more at ease in the sunshine (and she was developing a case of freckles, though he'd never mention it to her). He had his suspicions as to why that was, but he didn't want to push her by asking for details.

At some point, he knew he was going to have to ask her to tell him what had happened if for no other reason than because he'd seen how she could sometimes be set off by seemingly small things. He had to know what to avoid, at least, if nothing else. He just wasn't entirely sure how to initiate that conversation without causing her to run off and he selfishly didn't want to waste what little time he was allowed with her each day by being the source of her discomfort. He strongly suspected this would end up coming back to bite him at some point, but it was hard to make himself care when she was coming so close to actually relaxing in his presence.

Once her cousin returned from London, he began playing chaperone to their visits. He didn't exactly blame the boy for being protective of her and wary of Gold (and was indeed a little glad for her sake that somebody had her best interest at heart) but it was hard not to be jealous of this invasion into their time. The young Mr. French at least had the courtesy not to intrude on their walks in the garden, though Gold suspected he watched them from upstairs.

"Gaston means well," Belle said softly one day as they took a turn about the property to escape his presence. "He doesn't quite know what to do with me anymore."

Gold was a little surprised at her candor. He'd never dreamed of bringing it up, especially since they were set to be married within a few weeks anyway.

"Doesn't he?" he replied.

She shrugged a little, but didn't reply. He was left scrambling for some other thing to say to encourage her to continue, because he wanted to hear what she was thinking and to know what she thought about herself. She was so hard to read sometimes and any little clue he could get he would cling to.

"What would you like him to do?" he finally asked her.

"I'd like him to stop worrying," she replied almost instantly. "I'd like everyone to stop worrying and stop acting like I'm going to break. I'm not, you know."

She said the last bit so proudly it was almost possible to ignore the brittleness in her voice as though she were actually quite close to breaking but was determined not to let him see it.

"It never crossed my mind that you would," he replied as evenly as he could. "You don't seem the sort."

Apparently, that had been the right thing to say as her shoulders relaxed almost instantly, though she was now tracing the inside of her wrist with her fingertips in a manner he'd learned meant she was becoming agitated. He had similar nervous habits as well, though, and knew better than to call her attention to it. It was becoming time to change the topic.

"Will you need any special accommodation for your maid after the wedding?" he asked her.

It was more of an idle conversation than anything else. Lady's maids slept in maid's quarters and he knew there was a spare bedroom upstairs, though there was a chance that she wouldn't want to be alone the first few nights in the new house.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I don't actually have a maid."

If he hadn't had a cane, he would have tripped from the shock of that statement. Lady's maids were an essential part of the household for any lady of any quality whatsoever. Even a middle class girl would have someone to do her hair for her, and the idea that Belle did not was absolutely bizarre.

"Why not?" he blurted out before he could catch himself. "I mean...is there a reason I should know of?"

"I don't like being touched," she said so quietly he thought he didn't hear her right for a second before she continued in a surer voice. "After...well, I was sick recently and while I was bedridden I didn't need a maid so I sent her away. I never bothered to replace her."

He now had even more questions than before. Why had she been bedridden? Every report he'd heard of the _event_ had included her being largely unharmed aside from the violation. Certainly nothing to indicate that she'd been injured to the extent as to require her to be bedridden for any period of time, especially considering her primary method of handling reminders of the event seemed to be activity and not sloth.

She was dragging her fingernails harder along her wrist now and he knew not to push this any further or risk her becoming too upset to continue talking to him.

"We'll worry about that later, then," he said as casually as he could. "If nothing else, I have two maids at my house and certainly one can be spared to help you whenever you require."

She nodded, and the rest of his visit was taken up with little discussions about the weather and a book on Greek mythology he was in the process of reading. Thankfully, it was one she'd already read and she was more than willing to offer her opinions on it. She took a particularly harsh view of the author, feeling that his analysis of the legend of Hades and Persephone was misinformed and she spent the next quarter of an hour lecturing him on mistranslations of Greek texts.

He'd never been happier to see Jefferson than he was that evening, even if the valet was going to give him another world weary sigh at the sight of the dust on the hems of his pants.

"For God's sake, Jefferson," Gold exclaimed. "What the hell do I pay you for if not so I can get dust on my damn pants?"

"My charming company?" the other man replied dryly, locating a change of clothes and setting it out for Gold. "I can't wait until you marry the girl just so you might actually keep a pair of pants clean all morning."

"I'll be sure to relay your best wishes to her," Gold said. "Although speaking of my future wife, I have a question for you."

"Jewelry," Jefferson said instantly. "Always jewelry."

"I didn't even ask you the question yet."

"Does it matter?" Jefferson replied. "Apology? Jewelry. Gaining her good opinion? Jewelry. Seduction? A lot of jewelry."

"Which of the maids do you think is most inclined towards being over protective of another woman?"

That stopped Jefferson dead in his tracks as he looked at him with confusion on his face.

"Why?"

"Lady Belle will not be bringing a lady's maid with her," Gold explained. "So she'll need to be provided one."

"Frankly, I wouldn't trust either of them to do the job," Jefferson replied. "I would absolutely despair for her hair and wardrobe."

"I didn't ask who would be better at keeping her looking nice," Gold said. "I want to know which you think is more likely to become protective of her."

Jefferson stared at him for awhile before comprehension finally dawned.

"Ah," he exclaimed. "If you want a protector for your bride-to-be, then Elizabeth would be your girl."

"The scullery maid?"

Gold had really hoped to hear that it would be Astrid who at least could do her own hair and not the girl that Jefferson affectionately referred to as the chimney sweep. Elizabeth (or 'Lizard' as he had once overheard her introduce herself to a delivery boy) constantly had ashes in her hair and on her clothes from the fireplace and seemed nearly incapable of walking past something dusty without getting it all over herself. Gold swore that girl would have been a better stable boy than a maid, but then, Jefferson was right about one thing: Elizabeth was highly protective of the servants. She'd once actually knocked over a boy from the neighborhood who had been teasing the stable boy.

"You said you wanted the one who would be most protective," Jefferson reminded him. "that girl was born to be bodyguard."

"Alright," Gold said with a sigh. "Have her take an actual bath and see if we can't find _somebody_ to teach her how to comb hair sometime in the next few weeks. And then we need to hire a new scullery maid, apparently."

"She'll need to learn to sew, too," Jefferson replied. "I don't actually mean to be sarcastic, but I physically don't have the ability to do everything I already do and take care of a lady's wardrobe. And I doubt you want me handling her underthings anyway."

"So send one of the girls into town tomorrow to find a maid," Gold said. "And it looks like you'll be giving the girl a crash course in what her duties will be and how to perform them. I don't care about the rest of it, she'll eventually pick up some manners and Belle can teach her whatever else she wants."

Honestly, he didn't give a damn if Elizabeth never learned how to sew a straight stitch or style hair. He could hire somebody to do the mending and there wasn't much society to be had in the country, he really just wanted to make sure that there was somebody in the house whose entire job would revolve around making sure Belle felt safe and he wanted to make sure it was a person who would actually take that responsibility seriously.


	7. First Kiss

When Belle and her father arrived at the registry office, Rhys was already waiting for them with his son. Belle was half relieved and half terrified. Rhys hadn't been sure that Neal would want to attend the wedding, and while Belle was happy that she apparently hadn't come between them, she'd never met the younger Mr. Gold before. He was taller than she'd expected.

Belle could really only think of one time in her life she'd been more afraid than she was as she clung tightly to her father's arm and approached the man who would be her husband in less than an hour.

"Nobody is making you go through with this," her father whispered to her. "If you've changed your mind you can go right back home."

She knew he meant it, and there was a part of her that desperately wanted to take him up on the offer and run home and never be outside again. But hiding away was only a temporary solution, and this one could be permanent. She was just so tired of being afraid all the time.

Her father was still a little on edge when they reached the others, but he didn't try to change her mind as they made their way to where her fiance waited with the man who would be her son.

"Good morning," Rhys said once they were within speaking range. "Lady Belle, I trust you're well."

It was a simple social courtesy, something that any number of men had said to her with no expectation of any answer beyond a simple _I am well, thank you_ but there was a little quirk of his head and a look in his eye that told her he was as worried about her today as her father was.

"I'm very well," she said as firmly as she could. She couldn't find words to put his mind at ease and reassure him that she was glad to be marrying him, or at least nothing that wasn't too forward even for a man she'd be wed to in half an hour.

Rhys, thankfully, seemed to take her meaning and fixed her with a warm smile. His son was looking at her oddly and she found herself pressing into her father's side warily. She hated herself for this weakness. Rhys had warned her that his son wasn't taking the news of the upcoming wedding well - and she could hardly blame him for thinking poorly of her. She shouldn't be afraid. There was absolutely no threat to her, and she needed to remember that, because she would be living under the Golds' roof within an hour.

Rhys' eyes flicked between Belle and his son quickly.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "May I introduce you to my son Neal? Neal, this is Lady Belle French and her father Lord Maurice."

Pleasantries were exchanged, though Belle continued to be overly aware of Neal Gold's location in relation to herself. Even as she took Rhys' arm and followed him into the registry office she could feel that Neal was still watching her. However, at least her nerves about her new son overrode her nerves about the wedding and it was over almost before she realized it had begun. She was only snapped back to Rhys when the officiant instructed that he could kiss the bride.

She'd never kissed him. She'd only been kissed before on holidays and the announcement of her engagement to Gaston. Even in the library, Nottingham had never kissed her. Rhys had been beyond patient, barely touching her beyond the handshake they'd exchanged to seal the engagement. She could feel her chest tightening uncomfortably. Oddly, she was more terrified of making a scene than she was of him kissing her. He was watching her carefully and she tried to force herself to relax enough to reassure him.

Rhys leaned in and Belle tried to still herself, forcing her eyes to stay open to remind her where she was and who he was because forgetting that could be disastrous to this fledgling marriage. He was so close that she could feel his breath against her lips and she steadied herself, praying she wouldn't panic when she felt his lips brush against her cheek softly - just barely touching the corner of her mouth. She felt her eyes flutter closed in spite of herself, and then they flew back open when he moved away from her after that little bit of touch.

And just like that, she was a wife.

There was no celebration to be had after the small ceremony, only her father trying not to shed any tears as he hugged her and then handed her into her husband's carriage to travel to her new home. Her belongings had been packed up and sent over that morning, including the hope chest filled with linens and pretty nightgowns that she'd made for her marriage to Gaston. A few pieces were purloined from her mother's, reminders of a woman she'd never known and who had died to bring her into the world.

Belle had sat next to her husband, while Neal took the bench across from them. He thankfully wasn't staring at her anymore, instead he had his hands in his lap and he was staring at them intently. She knew she should be making conversation with him and trying to at least pretend like she wouldn't be a liability in his life, but she simply couldn't bring herself to speak and couldn't trust herself to do so without crying. Instead, she teased the edge of a lace handkerchief, worrying a loose thread between her fingers. She knew she was going to end up ruining the lace, but she couldn't quite bring herself to stop. The next few days would determine whether this had been a mistake or not, and it all started in the carriage.

They arrived at their destination all too soon, and Belle tried to brace herself as the door swung open. Neal and Rhys exchanged a glance quickly that had Neal hopping down first and offering her a hand out. She accepted it and stepped out of the carriage to get her first real look at her new home.

The servants had lined up to welcome her, and she relaxed a bit at the sight. She had visited other people's homes before and she knew what would be expected of her here.

A dark haired man came bounding forward from the group and gave a sweeping bow.

"Mr. Jefferson at your service," he said cheerfully.

Belle heard a sigh from behind her and when she turned to look at her husband he was pinching the bridge of his nose with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Pleased to meet you," Belle replied, somehow soothed by this theatrical display of gallantry. He was trying to please her as much as her husband was.

Jefferson introduced himself as the butler and valet before guiding her forward to meet the rest of the assembled servants. She couldn't remember enough of their names, but tried to at least learn their jobs figuring they would give her a few days to keep everyone straight. There was a gardener, a stable boy, and a groom outside. Inside, there were two maids and a cook.

"Where are the footmen?" she asked Jefferson after the introductions had been completed.

"There aren't any," he said simply, shooting a glance towards Rhys. "We don't keep a very formal house here, m'lady, and no large parties. I'm afraid I'm the only male servant in the house."

She felt a tension she hadn't even realized was there lifting off her shoulders. No footmen and no large parties meant she didn't have to keep track of the locations of more than a handful of people at any given time. Neal would be returning to the city within the week if she'd understood his plans right, which meant that in less than seven days there would only be two men for her to even think about encountering. She could do this.

After the servants were dismissed, Rhys began her tour of the house. It was far smaller than her father's house. There was a kitchen, drawing room, library, and sitting room downstairs. Upstairs were a few bedrooms (and, she realized, her room was down the hall from her husband's) and another drawing room. There was so little for her to have to try to keep track of - she could do this.

Neal had excused himself early on in the tour, leaving Belle and Arthur standing outside her bedroom door at the end of it.

"These are for you," Rhys said, reaching into his pocket to hand her some keys. "These will let you into any door in the house. There's another set for the housekeeper, with one exception."

He flipped through the ring to show her two specific keys.

"This key opens your chamber door," he continued, dropping the first to move to the next. "And this one opens your balcony. You're the only one who has those keys. Nobody can get into your room unless you want them there."

Belle was stunned at this gesture. In her father's house, there had been a keyring like this one for the housekeeper, but it had held every key. There had been no room she could have hidden herself away in. Here, though, she could lock herself away in her bedroom if she wanted to and nobody could get into it. She was almost giddy with this new sensation of power and the control over her space. She wouldn't be entirely at his mercy.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, even though it somehow didn't feel like nearly enough to explain what this meant.

She hated that she didn't have a way to show him her appreciation. She was struck with the sudden urge to kiss him, but she wasn't sure where that had come from. She didn't quite trust herself to do it without running, and still didn't know enough about him to know if it was a good idea.

She smiled at him, though, and he smiled back and she hoped he had some idea of how much she appreciated everything he'd been doing. After a moment, he stepped back from her.

"Dinner is at seven," he said. "I hope I'll see you there."

And that was it. He was gone, and she let herself into her room.

One of the maids was already in there when she opened the door, and Belle wasn't quite sure why she hadn't expected it - of course he'd have sent someone to help her unpack. She was the shortest person on the staff, barely taller than Belle herself.

"Hello," Belle said, jarring the girl's attention towards her.

The maid muttered a curse under her breath and made a hurried curtsey.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she replied. "I didn't hear you come in."

"It's fine," Belle reassured her. "I tend to walk quietly. You're Elizabeth, right?"

The girl nodded and folded her hands in front of her.

"Mr. Gold assigned me to help you with your clothes and...everything else."

"So you'll be my lady's maid, then?" Belle asked almost rhetorically. There was no other reason for this girl to be in here, after all.

"Apparently," the girl said with a shrug. "I haven't ever done this before, actually."

"Why did he hire you, then?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth replied. "A couple weeks ago Jefferson told me I had to learn to sew."

"You don't sew?" Belle asked, feeling an amused smirk on her face.

"Not so much," Elizabeth admitted. "But I'm getting better at it."

"Well," Belle replied. "I can teach you. It's not that hard."

"That'd probably be a good idea," Elizabeth said with a wry smile as she opened another chest. "Was there anywhere in particular you wanted these things?"

Belle nodded, going to help the maid set the room to rights. It was such a relief to have something concrete to do. She'd been living a life of quiet desperation lately, no purpose and no control over anything. Now, though, she could focus on these small things. She could have the vanity moved where ever she wanted, she had complete control over where her books were placed in her new room. Tomorrow, she would start to learn how to run the household. Elizabeth had to be taught to sew. She had things to do here in this place that didn't remind her of convalescing or of how much of a disappointment her life had become, which was something she'd missed more than she'd even realized.

There was a part of her that wanted to laugh with relief, with the realization that she could make a home here. Maybe not the home she'd dreamed of, and there was still the chance her husband had mislead her, but for the first time in months Belle felt the chance for happiness finally within her grasp.


	8. Family Secrets

Neal was in the library staring intently out a window when Gold finally found him. He'd left Belle in the hallway outside her door before coming to find his son. Neal had seemed distressed in the carriage, and Gold wasn't sure if it was sympathy for his new mother or if he was even more upset with his father than before. Neal turned around when the door closed and Gold suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore. He limped to his desk without making eye contact, sitting down and flipping through the ledger kept on the table.

"You could have warned me," Neal said after a few minutes.

"Warned you?" Gold replied. "About what?"

"About...her," Neal said with a frustrated gesture towards the other side of the house. "God, Papa, she looked like she was afraid I was going to eat her."

Gold had actually become rather used to Belle's general nervousness around men, but it wasn't until Neal mentioned her fear that Gold realized that it had been awhile since Belle had seemed terribly afraid of _him_. He'd assumed her added nervousness at been because of the wedding, but she had been staring at Neal fairly intensely.

"I did warn you," Gold replied. "You know what happened to her."

Neal was looking around as though one of the bookcases might suddenly spring to life and agree with him.

"I didn't know she was that upset!" Neal finally huffed, sitting down in a chair opposite his father. "Despite what you may think I don't spend a lot of time in the company of fallen women."

"There are two kinds of fallen, Neal," Gold said. "And they aren't all given a choice in the matter. I truly hope you don't meet many more like Belle."

Neal sagged in his chair a little, looking like a child who had been called to the carpet by his father. Gold pretended to look over some correspondence while his son thought about what he'd said.

"Do you like her?" Gold asked after a little while, still not making eye contact.

"This isn't what I meant when I said you needed a hobby, Papa," Neal said with a little tease to his voice. "And she's not said a single word to me yet. She's certainly pretty, and she seems sweet enough from what I've seen and heard of her. I'm not angry with you for marrying her, anyway. Do _you_ like her?"

"I do," Gold replied. "She's good company. And she knows how to run a household and manage servants better than either of us."

"But do you like _her?"_ Neal asked again. "You didn't just marry her for a housekeeper, Papa."

Gold sighed, leaning forward on his elbows to rest his face in his hands.

"I didn't, no," he admitted. "We've never exactly been close but I've known her for years. She's...not like this, son. When I knew her before she was excitable and cheerful and sweet."

Neal had his eyebrows raised and gestured for him to continue, but Gold wasn't even sure what to say. He didn't want to admit to anyone just how much it galled him that she'd been reduced to jumping at shadows and clinging to her father in the presence of strangers. He didn't want to think about it, because he wasn't sure what it meant.

"I couldn't let her marry Nottingham," Gold said at last, sitting up straight again. "I met the man at your club and wasn't particularly impressed. He'd have been cruel to her."

"You got all that from a few hours of cards?" Neal asked. "Granted, I don't much care for the man but you can't tell what kind of husband he'd be from that."

"I can tell," Gold replied.

He was trying hard to keep his voice even. Neal was bringing his father closer to things he didn't want to think of than the boy knew.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I just _do,_" Gold said, feeling his agitation rise. "The way that he talked and the way he spoke of her. Men like that...they can't help what they sound like. They speak like they own you, whether they have any power over you at all. And God help you if they do have power over you, because the last place you want to be is under the thumb of that kind of man. I couldn't abandon any woman to that fate, much less Belle. Men like Malcolm…"

"Keith," Neal interrupted his father's tirade. "Nottingham's name is Keith."

"Right," Gold replied, trying hard to still fingers that were rubbing against each other in a familiar little tick. "Keith. What did I say?"

"You said Malcolm," Neal said. "Who's Malcolm?"

"He's nobody," Gold said. "No one you need to worry about."

He could tell his son didn't believe him, and the boy seemed on the verge of asking after this new name when a knock on the door signaled Jefferson's arrival.

"Excuse me," he said. "But it's time to change for dinner. I wouldn't want your bride to think we keep a shoddy house, after all."

"Of course not," Gold announced a hair too loudly as he practically lept to his feet to follow Jefferson. "Wouldn't want her to get the wrong idea about you, after all."

He could feel his son's eyes on his back as he retreated to his room, but there was no way he could face Neal now. He'd come so close to giving up the secrets he'd hoped to take to the grave. Perhaps it was the coward's way out, but Neal was happier and better without knowing the truth of his father's past. There were some shames that couldn't be undone.

Dinner was awkward as hell. Belle was jumpy, Neal was sullen, and Gold was afraid to speak for fear of accidentally saying things he'd rather keep to himself. The slip in the library had been a dangerous place to go and he didn't want to risk returning.

Gold had spent an entire life running from where he came from, and in an instant he was back to being the little boy who had been helpless to protect the person he'd loved. He had utterly failed then, and he was beginning to suspect that was what had propelled him to marry Belle in the first place - the fear of being that child again, the fear of more children like that existing.

"The soup is lovely," Belle said at last, drawing the attention of both men to herself.

"Mrs. Potts will be glad to hear you think so," Gold replied. "This is a particular favorite of hers."

"Oh good," she said with a sweet smile. "I'll make sure to tell her I agree when I see her."

The conversation dropped off again after that. Gold was straining for something to say to her as the next course was served, but he was coming up short.

"How are you liking the house so far?" Neal asked, turning towards Belle.

Belle looked startled at his question and Gold was unsure how she'd respond. He would be the first to admit he'd rushed into this marriage, but that didn't mean he wasn't taking it seriously. He wanted to know about her, he wanted to learn her little tics and this was a big one.

"It's lovely," she said sincerely. "I spent all afternoon getting my things settled into my room, but I hope to look around a bit more later."

"There's not much to see," Gold said. "It's certainly not as grand as your father's home, anyway."

"I like it," she said. "It's...quieter."

"I'm sure," Neal replied. "It's a little too quiet for my tastes, honestly. I find I miss being in town if I'm away too long."

"Well, your business is there," she said. "I'm sure that must keep you preoccupied."

"It does," Neal admitted. "There's always so much to do."

"Yes," Belle replied. "Your father told me you're looking for investors. I can't imagine how difficult that must be between giving the presentations and then entertaining them. Have you been able to raise much capital?"

Neal was leaning back and watching her with something like awe in his eyes. Gold hadn't truly realized that Belle would know _anything_ about business, but perhaps she'd been more active in her father's accounts than he'd been aware of.

"We're getting there," Neal said. "But there's always some new expense, too. It's a never ending cycle."

She nodded thoughtfully before replying.

"And this is for opening new markets?"

"In part," Neal said. "I also want to expand our production as well, though."

"I'm sure my father will be thrilled if it works," she replied. "As will your other investors, of course."

Gold had known she was clever and that she knew how to run a house, but he hadn't known that she was familiar at all with her father's business or any business whatsoever. She didn't seem smug like she was showing off for them, or even that she was aware this was any particular skill. She was just making polite conversation with his son.

Neal was definitely impressed, if his awestruck expression was anything to go by. Gold just wished the evening could go on forever, but he could see the telltale signs of her anxiety increasing as the meal went on. She was twisting her napkin in her lap and had begun rubbing her left wrist with her thumb over and over again. It wasn't surprising when she declined an invitation to join them for conversation after dessert and instead claimed exhaustion and retired to her room. What was surprising was how much he missed her company when she left.

He was starting to like being around her more than he had planned, and that was not strictly speaking a good idea. Most men would have loved to be in his position, a pretty young wife with a clever mind and good sense was a valuable asset, after all. But caring about Belle beyond the gentle sense of duty he already felt would only end badly for everyone involved. It was best to leave her to her space and to retain his own, no matter how empty that prospect suddenly felt.


	9. So Very Accommodating

Belle had never truly been one to keep late hours, but alone in a strange new place that first night she found herself completely unable to sleep. Her new husband had promised her that he wasn't interested in making her a true wife, but there was no way she could have enforced that promise if he decided to break it. She had thought briefly of having Elizabeth stay the night with her, but instead she'd sent the girl back to her own room. There was nothing the maid could have done to protect her against Rhys if he had decided to take her, and Belle didn't want word of her nightmares to spread to the rest of the house as long as she could hide them.

She'd stayed in her sitting room for hours after she changed into her nightgown, a thick robe wrapped around her and tied tightly shut. Belle halfway yearned for the familiarity of her father's home, but not for the memories it contained.

Rhys had said that she held the only keys to her rooms, and she clung to that little reassurance like a lifeline. After all, why would he go to such great lengths to put her at ease only to tear that away from her? Belle had locked her doors immediately after Elizabeth left, and kept a weary vigil well into the early hours of the morning. She'd tried embroidery to calm herself – she had a new initial to put on handkerchiefs, after all – and when that failed had brought out one of the few books she'd taken with her from her father's house but was only able to get through a few paragraphs before her fingers became jittery and her skin was too tight. She was, in the end, left with nothing to do besides pace.

She wished she knew exactly why this helped, what about it quieted her too loud thoughts. It was such a bizarre thing, like she could outrun her problems if she just walked fast enough and tried hard enough to do so. Maybe she could, for a little while anyway. Maybe if she just tried hard enough...if she tried harder she was likely to become the ghost haunting the attic, never to be at rest again.

Belle walked the perimeter of her sitting room more times than she could count, each time finding herself drawn further and further towards the balcony. The door was locked, of course – all the doors were – but the large windows showing the night sky were calling to her. Calling like a siren dragging a sailor towards the rocks and she knew it was dangerous, knew that she shouldn't succumb, and yet she was still drawn towards the balcony. The temptation was too much, and she would be lost.

Against her better judgment, she brought the key to the lock and let herself out.

She was hit immediately with the unseasonably warm night air, which she had hoped would snap her out of her fugue but instead only fueled the dream-like quality of everything as she passed the benches (she hated benches) and walked to the railing. The ground was so far below her from here and she couldn't help but wonder if it was far enough down. Belle had seen a gardener fall from a tree this high before, though, and he'd been alright. He'd suffered a broken leg and a sprained wrist, but he'd been back to work within the year and the only lasting effect had been that he could tell when it was going to rain. Perhaps if she went up on the roof…

Belle shut her eyes tight and shook her head, trying to clear the clouds that had settled in her mind and left her fuzzy and unable to think. She couldn't give Nottingham this much power over her. She had to be brave, and if she couldn't be brave she could at least be obstinate.

She was gripping the railing around the balcony so tight that her knuckles had gone white, and she forced herself to release the barrier and turn back towards the house. The benches caught her eye again. She'd have them replaced, she decided. Chairs would be nice out here. Chairs and potted plants (preferably hearty ones that wouldn't require the gardener's attention).

With that decided, Belle retreated quickly to her sitting room and locked herself back inside. He wasn't going to do anything to hurt her, she reassured herself. It was very late, and if Rhys had any intentions of coming for her at all he would have done it by now. She proceeded to lock herself in her bedroom and pull the curtains tight around herself. Still, sleep evaded her. Every strange sound was a footstep coming for her and in the darkness her mind played tricks. Finally, she opened the curtains just a little and lit a candle on the sideboard, the light just enough to reassure her that the shadows didn't contain a man lying in wait and it was only then that she managed a few fitful hours of sleep.

Elizabeth was standing outside Lady Belle's room looking agitated and confused when Jefferson found her. Not that he'd been looking for her (he'd actually been looking for Astrid, who needed to get the sitting room dusted _now_ if she knew what was good for her) but why settle for one maid if he could have two?

"Don't you have something else to do besides fret?" he scolded her and she whirled around to face him instantly. "At the very least I'm sure the lady of the house has some laundry you could be collecting, after all."

"The door is locked," Elizabeth replied. "I can't get in and I don't know what to do."

Well, he'd known that this was a definite possibility anyway. Especially when Gold had taken all the keys for this suite and given them to his bride as a wedding gift. Still, he wasn't going to let her just stand there like a statue when there was so much still that needed to be done to get the woman moved in.

"She presumably knows it's locked," he said. "And she'll ring for you if she needs you. Go downstairs and straighten the sitting room. You know Mr. Gold uses it for company and his son won't be leaving until tomorrow."

Elizabeth nodded and took off for the stairs.

"Wait," Jefferson called after her as a thought struck him. "What do you think about your new mistress?"

Elizabeth got a startled look on her face and glanced around as though the right answer would present itself if she just thought hard enough.

"It's not a trick question," he sighed. "I just need to know if there are any accommodations she needs."

"No, nothing like that," Elizabeth replied quickly. "She seems nice enough but she's a little jumpy. Nothing too strange, though."

"But?" he prompted. He could feel there was more to this story that she hadn't told him.

"She's just...she's jumpy," the maid tried to explain. "I accidentally dropped a stack of books and she shrieked. I asked if she liked to read and she wouldn't answer me right away, and when I offered to fetch something from the library for her if she wanted she got quiet. Her hands were shaking a little bit, too. I don't think she knows I noticed, but she sent me out of the room to put some clothes in the wardrobe for a little while and when I came back she'd settled down some. It was really strange."

He knew he was grimacing now and setting an absolutely _terrible_ example but these were all things he was going to have to relay to his employer lately and he wasn't looking forward to any of it.

"Did she say she likes to read?"

"She does," Elizabeth said with a little nod of her head. "But she said she doesn't have much time anymore. Whatever _that_ means, anyway."

"Right, of course," Jefferson said after a moment. "I have two things I need from you. The first is that I need you to come straight to me anytime she says or does something you think is odd. I don't care how small it is. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"And the second thing?"

"Don't tell anyone else any of this," he replied firmly. "Don't go gossiping with Astrid, don't mention it in passing to the grocer's boy, don't tell anecdotes to the gardener. Spreading tales about your employer is how you end up on the street without a recommendation. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded again and he dismissed her to go clean. He was, of course, going to have to make a full report to Gold about all this. Jefferson really didn't want to get involved in his employer's marriage, but it was his job to make sure the house kept running smoothly and unfortunately a big part of that was going to be making sure that the lady of the house adjusted to her new home reasonably well.

He still wasn't entirely sure why Gold had married the poor girl. She seemed like a sweet girl, but she scared easily and he knew she was damaged goods. She had money, but not an obscene amount. Her father had a title, but not a particularly prestigious one. She wasn't exactly the pinnacle of wife material that she'd been raised to be, or that Jefferson might have expected to be the sort to inspire a man to make a whirlwind proposal. Jefferson honestly didn't know why Gold had done all this, nor was he sure he wanted to. He liked Lady Belle just fine, but he wasn't sure he'd have wanted to marry her in the same position.

Jefferson wasn't really looking forward to having this conversation, but it wasn't something that he should avoid. His job was to keep the house running smoothly, and part of that was to make sure this marriage got off on the right foot.

Gold was dressing for breakfast when Jefferson returned to his room.

"Your wife has locked her maid out," Jefferson announced, busying himself straightening the shaving things. The last thing he needed was to get caught staring.

"Did she?" Gold said, sounding resigned more than anything. "At least she's getting some use out of her wedding present."

"I just thought you'd like to know," Jefferson replied as nonchalantly as he could. "I sent Elizabeth to help clean until she's needed."

"I'm sure Belle can decide when she needs help," Gold said. "If nothing else, she'll want company at some point. I think."

Jefferson wasn't quite as optimistic as all that, but that was really his own business.

"Dinner went well," Gold continued. "She impressed Neal."

"You and I have very different ideas about how hard he is to impress," Jefferson reminded Gold. "He's a twenty-five year old man. He's impressed with nearly every woman he meets."

"That's true," Gold admitted. "But I'm willing to take the small victories right now."

"I'm not going to complain about you being in a good mood for once," Jefferson teased. "I'm just trying to make sure you stay that way and don't get your hopes up too high."

"What do you mean?"

Jefferson relayed the information he'd gotten from Elizabeth as efficiently as possible, watching as Gold's face settled into its customary scowl. Yeah, that seemed about right.

"It happened in a library," Gold groaned, letting himself fall into a chair. "I can't believe I didn't think about that."

"Has _anyone_ thought about it?" Jefferson asked. He didn't really expect Gold to have an answer, but he had to wonder what (if any) accommodations she'd been used to at her father's house.

Gold was looking at him like he'd just tripped on a hidden gold vein, though, and he wasn't really sure what to think about it.

"What?" Jefferson asked defensively. "What did I say?"


	10. Tea Cup

Belle didn't go down for dinner. Or lunch, for that matter. At tea time, Elizabeth knocked on her door with a tray. Belle halfway wanted to turn the maid away, but she couldn't stay in her room forever and she was sure if she set herself to quietly waste away up there even her new husband would eventually have somebody break the door down and get her. Somehow, the idea of explaining why she didn't want to leave yet felt more exhausting than drinking tea, even with her too-tight skin and how tired she felt, so she had spent the afternoon with the maid.

Belle wasn't sure she ever wanted to leave her room again, because the longer she stayed there the more she would have to explain to everyone when she emerged. She wondered if that would be what drove Rhys away? Perhaps he would finally realize he'd married a mad woman and have her locked in an asylum far away.

She would have to make a point to go down for dinner, at least. She could justify staying in her room all day as being eager to get settled in (even though she'd spent most of the morning laying in bed and staring out a window) but she should go down to dinner. This was her house now, and her husband's son was visiting. The polite thing to do was to spend time getting to know him before he returned to his home in London. The brave thing to do was to go downstairs and put on a smiling face and make this work. Belle was tired of being brave, though. She'd always wanted to be brave, but everything in her was crying out to stay curled up in bed and so she did. She stayed in her dressing gown all day, even when Elizabeth knocked on her door with a tray of dinner and a message from Belle's new husband hoping she would feel better tomorrow.

Belle wasn't really sure she'd ever feel better again.

She didn't feel like leaving her room again the next morning, either. This was becoming ridiculous and she knew it. She could claim a headache or other infirmity gripping hold of her if she just could muster the strength to go downstairs _now_.

"Good morning," Elizabeth said just a hair too loudly, throwing open the drapes. "Are you feeling better today?"

The maid was eyeing Belle and she thought she heard just a hint of a scold in the girl's voice. Not that Belle didn't understand, of course. She had only left this room for dinner once since she arrived at the house. If their places were reversed Belle was sure she'd be completely gobsmacked at this behavior.

"I think so," Belle said, more out of a desire to actually be okay than any real belief that she was. "Have my husband and son been to breakfast yet?"

"Mr. Neal left early this morning," Elizabeth replied simply.

"What?" Belle exclaimed, practically tripping in her haste to climb out of bed as though she could move fast enough to go back in time and actually see him off. "Drat it all."

She hadn't realized he was leaving so soon. She really, really hadn't. She'd known he was leaving soon, but...oh she was just the worst. She had been married about forty-eight hours and already she'd locked herself in her room for an entire day and missed saying goodbye to her new son. It was unbelievably rude and if Rhys hadn't regretted marrying her already then how could he help but regret it now?

Elizabeth was staring at her with a strange little quirk to her lips that had Belle scowling in her already fowl mood.

"Is something funny?" she snapped.

"No, of course not," Elizabeth said instantly. "But well, if you're going to swear you might as well go all out."

"What?"

"I think it might be a good time for a _damn_ is all," the maid said in a scandalous whisper.

Belle stopped short and blinked for a second. She'd never really sworn before, being a lady and all. It hadn't even occurred to her to do so now, but she couldn't deny that Elizabeth was completely right. So, instead, she burst out laughing.

The situation was just so absurd. She'd locked herself away because of no good reason at all, and now had managed to ruin her last best chance at happiness. So maybe it wasn't too big of a surprise when her giggles turned into deep, hiccuping sobs as she sat back on the bed.

Elizabeth seemed shocked at the change, sitting down next to her instantly with a confused look on her face.

"It's okay," the maid said quickly. "Really, it's not all that bad."

"I've ruined everything," Belle finally managed to get out. "I should have seen him off and I was just so trapped in my own head."

"Mr. Neal always leaves on short notice," Elizabeth replied. "He'll be back in a few weeks, he visits pretty regularly. You'll see him next time."

Belle just shook her head. She didn't have the words to explain why she was so upset, or why she'd been so unable to interact with the household. She was going to have to go out there now, or she was never going to be able to do so.

When she'd finally managed to summon the nerve to make it downstairs, it was almost confusing how smoothly the house was still running. No one paid her any mind at all. It almost would have been easier had the servants all stopped to remind her of what a failure she was as a wife and mother and woman.

She came across Rhys in the hall. He had his head down and was looking over a piece of paper when he almost ran into her. His eyes shot up to her face quickly and he stepped back.

"Oh, Belle," he said. "Are you feeling well?"

"I am," she replied. "Thank you."

"Good," he said earnestly. "That's good. Would you...join me in the drawing room?"

He stood back to give her room to think, room to decline or to precede him into the room. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do, honestly. She didn't know if he was angry with her or not, but she knew that one way or the other she was going to have to face him.

Belle was able to hold her head up high even as she walked past him into the drawing room with her nails biting into the flesh of her palms. She'd only seen this room so far when he'd shown her around her first day here. It was a pleasant enough room, a few overstuffed armchairs and a divan. She chose one of the armchairs and sat down. She could do this.

Rhys sat down opposite her, giving her as much space and distance as he could manage.

"Would you care for some tea?" he asked her and, when she nodded, he promptly rang for the other maid. They sat in silence until the girl returned with a tray and left them again.

Rhys prepared himself a cup distractedly, staring into the depths of his cup as he stirred.

"Did someone do something that upset you?" he said after a few moments. "Myself or one of the servants, maybe?"

"No," she replied quickly, shaking her head. "Nothing like that. I just...I'm fine now, truly."

He nodded, looking everywhere but at her.

"Is this...does this sort of thing happen frequently?"

"Not really," she said. "I was just very tired."

"Alright," he replied. "It does occur to me though that we never really discussed our new situation."

"We didn't," she agreed. It was the conversation she'd been dreading - the one where he had changed his mind about this entire thing.

"Is there anything I need to know about?" he asked her calmly. "I'd like for you to be happy here, but it's hard to do that if I don't know what will make you uncomfortable."

Belle was completely shocked. Somehow it hadn't even occurred to her that he might ask her for this. Everyone always wanted details. Nobody wanted to seem so uncouth as to _ask_ for the details, but she could always tell. She held her own cup tight in her hands, tracing the floral pattern on the china as though her life depended on it.

But he hadn't asked what happened, had he? He'd asked what upset her. Was that really so different, though? She was already trying not to go back into that library all over again as she sat in that armchair in her new home. She wished again that she could travel back to before she was broken and do everything differently, but she couldn't. She was simply trapped here in this life.

"I don't like couches," she said finally, glancing sidelong at the divan. "Or benches, or chaise lounges."

Belle glanced up at Rhys to see his reaction to this confession. It wasn't something she'd really voiced before, but somehow it seemed the least terrifying of her problems to say to him. He didn't react visibly, just sipped his tea and listened.

"There are certain _things_ I don't like to hear," she continued.

"And what would those be?"

"_Good girl_," she said as coolly as she could, her mind already running ahead of her and threatening to take her away to a darker place. "_My pleasure_…"

She set her cup down on the table hard. She couldn't do this, she couldn't talk about it. She just wanted to not have to think about it anymore because it was too much. There was too much to think about.

Belle was trying to get her breathing back under control, but the cup had been too close to the edge and by the time she came back to herself it was too late and it had fallen to the floor.

"Oh, damn," she hissed, scooping it up and checking the edge. "It's...chipped."

He seemed bemused more than anything else, and she realized her language choice hadn't been particularly ladylike. She was a failure and there were already tears of frustration threatening to overwhelm her.

"It's just a cup," he said softly, picking up a spare off the tray and setting it in front of her. "Don't worry yourself about it."

She nodded, trying to settle herself into some state to continue this conversation.

"We can continue this later," he offered. "If you're alright."

"I am," she said as soon as she could trust her voice. "I'm sorry about the cup. And for missing your son. I hadn't realized he'd be leaving so soon."

"Neal had business," Rhys replied with a shrug. "He hadn't decided to leave until last night."

"I hadn't meant to stay locked away," she said. "I just...I couldn't be with people."

"I'm certainly not going to judge you for that," he replied idly. "People can be exhausting."

They could be, but she hated herself for it. She'd always liked being around people before, and now she was trapped in her room for long periods of time and jumping at shadows where there were none. He'd been nothing but solicitous of her and understanding, and she couldn't stop doubting him. Belle wanted to trust her husband - wanted to be able to trust him.

It wasn't beyond her that she couldn't have asked for much more in a marriage than she'd been given, even before all of this. Her husband was patient with her, kind to her, and made absolutely no demands on her. She tried to imagine what life would have been like had she been allowed to choose, truly _choose_, who she married. Would she have chosen him, if she knew what she did now? Would she have chosen anyone?

She thought she might be able to grow to love Rhys, though. There was a time when that was a luxury she'd never imagined - choosing to love her husband. She loved Gaston the way you loved a brother, because he had been there for her entire life and she had been told to love him. As far as beginnings to a marriage went, it wasn't a bad one. This would be different, though, and she knew it intuitively. If she could grow to love any man, she was sure it would be Rhys. So why did that scare her so very much?


	11. Spinning

_Six weeks later_

Gaston was going to America. Belle had known this was coming since before her wedding, and she had thought she was ready for it. It was in every way the right choice for him to make. He'd find an heiress to boost up the failing estate and a wife who wouldn't know of his cousin's shame. _Dollar Princesses,_ as they were known, were all the rage in certain circles, although Belle had been encouraged to find them politely distasteful. Her position in society had been secure (or so she'd thought), but her friends and their mothers hated them with a passion that bordered on obsession. Every American heiress to come to London was another bachelor off the marriage market, and titles were becoming a bit thin on the ground.

Of course, none of that particularly mattered to Belle anymore. She was ruined and then married; titles were quite beyond her concern at the moment. But even as she sat across from Rhys in the carriage on the way to her father's home, she knew that she'd dislike whoever Gaston chose to marry no matter what. Whether he chose the most wonderful woman in Boston or a girl off the corner in Whitechapel, his bride would be inheriting a life that should have belonged to Belle.

She knew it was petty, and she hated herself for this jealousy. It wasn't even about Gaston, it was everything he represented. It was her mother's ring, it was her childhood home, it was servants who had watched her grow from a girl into a woman, it was social seasons and holidays and children and a life that was now completely lost to her. She had been raised her entire life to be Lady Belle, and she just wasn't sure what to do now that her life had changed so fully from what it was supposed to be.

At least her father was happy to see her when she was escorted into the drawing room with her husband.

"Belle!" he exclaimed, standing up and lurching forward just enough to let her know he'd been about to embrace her before remembering himself and staying where he was. "How have you been?"

"I've been well, Papa," she reassured him, going to him and letting him hug her tightly. "I've been very, very well."

She smiled at him as sincerely as she could, hoping he'd believe her as he searched her face for signs of distress. She'd have told him the same thing whether she were happy or not, but she wasn't lying. Rhys had been nothing but solicitous and understanding. She honestly couldn't have asked for a better husband in this situation, and she hated herself a little bit for her greed in wanting more.

Gaston greeted her kindly, but not as warmly as he used to. She understood, though. He had never wanted to be on the marriage market, and she didn't think the idea of going to America had ever held any particular appeal for him. He was at his most comfortable in the country and in private groups. Hunting, fishing, and sport were his passions; he'd never learned more than the very basics of dancing. Now he was supposed to travel across the ocean to stay with someone her father distantly knew and who Belle had never met in order to hopefully catch a bride. He was never a man who liked change, and now everything was changing whether he wanted it to or not.

Fortunately, the rest of her visit was taken up with her father being entirely focused on her and her wellbeing. He'd visited her in her new home a handful of times since the wedding, but she hadn't been back to his house in the weeks since her marriage. She thought it was hard for him to think of her as a wife now.

Belle was an only child, and her father had spoiled and pampered her into oblivion. He had loved her mother desperately, and had refused to remarry after Colette had died in childbirth. Instead, he had declared Gaston his heir, bringing the cousin into his home and raising him to marry his daughter and take over as Lord.

Belle had always wondered if Gaston might grow to love her the way her father had loved her mother, but had never truly dared to hope. It hadn't ever really occurred to her to try to love him that way, though she wasn't sure why. In the carriage on the way home, she watched Rhys as he looked everywhere but at her and she thought for the first time that perhaps she could choose to be in love. He had given her a home and been nothing but kind to her. If she could love anyone, surely she could love her husband. At least she could try.

In the days following the visit to her father's house, Gold found his wife beginning to keep to a consistent schedule. She joined him for meals, spent her mornings outside with her embroidery, and kept to her room in the afternoons. She was even spending precisely forty-five minutes sitting with him after dinner, which he would have found a lot more encouraging if she didn't tend to spend a large portion of that time casting furtive glances at the mantle clock. Still, progress was progress ,and she was definitely making an effort towards that end. Gold was proud of her - she was trying, and trying was its own sort of progress.

He'd been completely terrified of going to her father's house, though. He'd been a guest there dozens of times, but something about having Belle with him...she belonged there. She belonged in a manor house with armies of servants and a name stretching back for generations. His wife had been born to be a lady, not the wife of a retired merchant.

There was also a (not insignificant) part of him that was intensely jealous of her old life. He wasn't in any way glad that she had been hurt - far from it, every time he watched her struggle to carry on a conversation with a man or to force down a moment of panic, he cursed Nottingham for what he'd done to Belle. She'd been the sort of woman who made a room feel warmer, and now she seemed to be struggling just to get by and he hated every second he had to watch that happen. But, there was a part of him that was intensely aware that if she hadn't been violated, she would never have married him. The thought of asking would never have even crossed his mind, and if it had she'd never have agreed. As a maiden, she was entirely beyond his reach. As a fallen woman, she'd been fortunate for his attentions.

He didn't want to want her, he had in fact promised her that he never would. But the longer she was around and the more effort she made to be near him the more he loved her and the happier he was he'd married her which just made him feel worse.

He had benefited from her being hurt, and that thought was destroying him inside. He had taken to spinning privately in his office most of the day to avoid her. He hadn't needed to use a spinning wheel to earn a living in a long time, but it had always settled his thoughts, and he needed that right now.

"I didn't know you could spin." Belle's voice came from behind him and he twisted around to see her.

She was wearing a simple day dress, but her hair was loose around her shoulders. He'd never seen it like that; she always kept it pinned up. He hadn't realized that it would be so lovely to look at.

"I learned when I was a boy," he replied as she came and brushed a finger across the spinning wheel. "My aunts spun and weaved. It was how I first began working in textiles."

"Your aunts?"

"They raised me," he said, trying hard to force down whatever stray emotions might threaten to overwhelm him. "After my parents died."

He hoped that she wouldn't press him for the details, that she would stick to their carefully drawn borders and not ask him for more than he was ready to give to her. There had been an unspoken agreement between them (broken only that day she first came down from her room) that they never discussed their lives before the wedding. Whatever they already knew of each other going into the marriage was all they needed to know. Truth be told, this suited him just as well as he thought it suited her. They both had their own demons to hide.

"Can you teach me?" she replied idly, and he only had a second to be thankful that she hadn't wanted to know about his parents before he registered what it was she had asked of him.

She wanted him to teach her to spin, wanted to spend even more time in his presence, wanted him to touch her. She couldn't possibly realize what she'd asked, could she?

"Of course," he said as calmly as he could, getting to his feet and drawing an ottoman over to the wheel.

He gestured for her to sit on the stool he'd vacated and she did. He settled next to her on the ottoman as she straightened her skirts and picked up the ball of roving he'd been working from. He took a few minutes to explain to her how the wheel worked and to demonstrate the correct hand positions before he let her give it a try. She was holding the wool too tight, letting it twist into a string that was too fragile to use.

"No no," he said, stopping her and taking her hand in his and readjusting her fingers until the yarn was thicker and didn't twist as badly. "You can't let it get too tight."

She nodded, and went back to her work. This time she began pedaling too fast and he saw the moment the yarn was going to be ripped from her hands just a moment too late to stop it. He put a hand out to stop the spinning of the wheel before the whole thing could get too tangled, and she was apologizing before he could even get a word out.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I let it go too fast."

"It's no matter," he replied. "Everyone makes mistakes when they're learning."

"Did you ever do that?" she asked.

"Once or twice," he said. "Mostly I broke the yarn. Or I'd spin it so tight it tangled."

She was smiling at him a little when he turned to face her and he could feel his face flush. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man and she was his wife and he shouldn't be _this _unnerved by her smiling at him. He focused on straightening the roving back out and by the time he had completed his work and handed the wool back to her she was looking down at her lap and twisting her handkerchief between her fingers.

It would be infinitely easier to show her how to do this if he could sit behind her on the stool, wrap his arms around her, and guide her hands with his own. He couldn't do that, though. He didn't want to overwhelm her with his proximity when he had never done more than let her put her hand on his arm and lead her into a dining room. Still, though, she was becoming frustrated and he could see what she was doing wrong.

Finally, he took a chance and angled his body towards her and took her right hand in his to hold her fingers in the correct way. She didn't flinch from him as he'd feared, and he practically collapsed with relief at that. She was able to spin a few feet of slightly lumpy yarn this time before it slipped through her fingers.

Belle seemed almost shocked at that, and it took him a moment to realize she'd dropped it because he had placed his left hand on her back while she spun. He jerked his hand off of her instantly and muttered a quick apology as he reached down to recover her yarn.

When he finally handed the ball of wool back to her, he realized she hadn't stopped watching him. He paused, unsure if he should try apologizing again when she suddenly leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't a long kiss, just a chaste little press of her lips to his and over almost before it began, but he had to remind himself to breathe when she pulled away and settled back at the wheel.

By the time she finally retreated to her room, he knew that something concrete had changed in their relationship, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.


	12. Wish I Could Make It Easy

anonymousnerdgirl said:

Shattered!prompt: I want a forehead kiss. Gold to Belle.

* * *

She hadn't meant to kiss him. Not that Belle hadn't thought about kissing her husband, but it had always been more of an abstract concept for her. An idea that she would someday perhaps want to kiss him, and a curiosity of what it would be like. She'd only been kissed a handful of times in her life, and only once by Rhys. It hadn't been until she'd asked him to show her how to spin and saw how very careful he was about how and where he touched her that she knew she _wanted_ to kiss him, and so she'd done it. It had been an impulsive act, but not one she regretted. Nobody had ever treated her as carefully as he did.

Men had been polite towards Belle her entire life, but after the incident, she'd been treated as though she might break at any moment and she could go days or weeks without anyone touching her aside from a physician. Whereas before she'd been accustomed to kissing her papa's cheek before leaving a room or having Gaston kiss her hand, in the last few months she'd been depriving herself of all sorts of physical affection - and until Rhys had held her hand and touched her back, she hadn't even realized it. He had been patient and had waited for her to invite his closeness before he dared to touch her at all, and something about the fact that she could trust him to keep his distance made her want him closer.

By the time she finally retreated to her room to dress for dinner, she was drunk on the knowledge that she could kiss him. Granted, she still couldn't be sure if he would welcome her attentions, but the fact that she could perform them had her ecstatic.

A year ago, this wouldn't have been a victory, it would have been a matter of course for her as a wife. But then, maybe this was what healing was? Winning little battles over her fear.

Belle put special attention into her dress that night, choosing a lilac one that she knew did her eyes a great many favors. She had never been much accustomed to putting a lot of thought into her wardrobe (even before everything had happened), but tonight she felt like celebrating.

Rhys was already waiting for her when she came downstairs for dinner, and she really did hope he was pleased. She knew she wasn't a particularly good wife and hadn't been any great catch by the time he married her, but she didn't want to be a burden or a regret. She'd been making progress towards providing the companionship he'd mentioned in his proposal, and buoyed by her success of the afternoon, she was hopeful about her prospects for the rest of the evening.

It wasn't until after dinner that she learned her husband had made plans of his own.

Rather than leading her into the sitting room like he usually did after dinner, he instead paused in the hall.

"I have a surprise for you upstairs," Rhys said, and even though she _did _trust him, she was on alert instantly.

"What is it?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Something I think you'll like," he replied. "I had one of the drawing rooms refurbished for you."

She still hated surprises, and she had no idea what he meant by 'refurbished' since she lived there and surely would have noticed workmen coming in and out, wouldn't she? She looked at him cautiously, but no. This was Rhys. She'd lived here almost two months now, and if he had any faults at all as her husband, it was that he was too cautious about scaring her. He had a reputation in town as being a tough businessman, but she'd never seen that side of him in their home. She'd taken a big step today; maybe it was time to make another one.

Belle smiled at him as earnestly as she could and allowed him to lead her up the stairs to the sitting room closest to her bedroom. Her skin was prickling as they approached the door, even though she had already decided to put her trust in him. She thought her heart might leap out of her chest and she had to suppress the urge to run away as he swung the door open, but she held it together long enough to step in and find...nothing.

The room was much as it had been when she'd moved in. The walls had the same pink floral wallpaper and the same rug was on the floor. It took her an embarrassing long time to realize the chaise and sofa that had been in this room had vanished to be replaced by armchairs and an ottoman. The heavy brocade curtains had been replaced with new ones in a pale yellow, and the paintings that had been on the walls were missing. The biggest change, though, was the wall of shelves that had definitely _not_ been there before.

"What is this?" she asked, walking into the room and brushing a finger across the empty shelves.

"It's your new library," he said, leaning against the open door and watching her. "If you want it."

She could hardly believe what he had just said, and looked at the room more closely now. The missing pictures that she was apparently supposed to replace, the tables cleared of decorations waiting for her to choose new ones, the empty shelves he apparently expected her to fill. The furniture was light and delicate and feminine, a far cry from the dark colors and greco-roman stylings of a traditional library.

"The furniture was brought in while we were visiting your father," he continued. "The rest was a bit of a trick - I will say that Elizabeth did an excellent job keeping you busy."

He said it so simply, as though it had been no trouble at all to covertly refurbish a room right under her nose. She wanted to thank him, but her throat was tightening and she was afraid she might burst out in a sob if she dared to speak. She got to decorate however she liked and fill the shelves with anything she wanted - her mind was already racing, trying to decide on what to put in her new space.

"Do you like it?" Rhys asked after a little while and she realized she'd been completely lost in her own excitement.

"It's amazing," she replied instantly. "You did all this for me?"

"It was nothing," he said, looking away from her bashfully. "I imagine you'll have the harder time of it filling the shelves."

"It was everything," she said, rushing to hug him before she could second guess herself. "I can really put whatever I want in here?"

He didn't relax into the hug immediately, but after she clung to him for longer than she was really comfortable with, he finally put his arms very loosely around her and patted her back. She stepped away from him.

"The room is yours," he said. "You can do whatever you want in here. The shelves are just a suggestion."

"A wonderful suggestion," she replied, trying to wipe away the tears that were already forming. "I just…"

There weren't really words for what he'd done for her. Not just the library, but everything. The marriage, the keys to her room, the time to herself - he'd been perfectly patient and understanding and she just didn't know what to tell him.

"Thank you," she finally said. "For doing this for me."

"You don't have to thank me," he said, skittering back a little bit as though she'd scared him. "If you need anything else for it, please let me know."

He seemed on the verge of dashing out the door now, and Belle was struck with the irony that just when she was wanting to get closer to him he seemed like he wanted to run screaming from her. She took a small step away and smiled at him sweetly.

"Could you take me to the bookstore tomorrow?" she asked him. "I didn't quite bring enough books to fill all the shelves."

"Yes," he replied, his voice softer now than it had been when she was closer. "I'll take you anywhere you'd like to go."

Maybe it had been unfair of her to extract that promise after he'd just given her this wonderful gift, but she was in a good mood and she was floating on this new ability to be feminine and flirtatious. No, it wasn't new. It was a little bit of her old self starting to peek through the darkness she'd been living with these last months. Maybe it wouldn't last through until tomorrow, but she wanted to see how far she could go before she'd pushed herself. It hardly took any effort at all to be standing close to him again, and just a little bit more until she had her lips pressed against his again. She lingered this time, a little longer than she had before, just long enough to remind herself that she could do this, and that she wasn't completely lost to herself.

"Tomorrow, then?" she asked him.

"Yes," he replied instantly. "We can leave first thing in the morning."

"I'll be ready," she promised.

He was watching her and she smiled again. He reached out a little and rubbed her arms.

"Goodnight, Belle," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."

He seemed a little surprised at his boldness, not turning away from her as he backed out the door into the hallway. Once he was out of sight, Belle sighed and walked the perimeter of her new library all over again. It was beautiful. Whoever had planned the colors had done well: it had gone from being dark and a little dreary to being bright and warm and _hers_. She loved everything about it, but mostly she loved that he'd done it.

There were a few books in her bedroom already, old favorites that she'd brought from home, and she immediately went to move those into her new shelves. She'd need bookends and paintings to go on the walls. Usually libraries would have sculptures on the tables, but she wanted plants in hers. And a window seat.

She'd have to figure out a place for Rhys to visit, too. She wanted this to be someplace he felt comfortable being. Their marriage was new, and maybe it had started out on the wrong foot, but she had every intention of making it work in any way she could.

It took her far too long to finally leave her library, but by the time she was finally out of her corset and in bed, she was sure that this time she'd made the right choice. He might have been her only choice, but she was satisfied with it.


	13. Paper Thin

Anonymousnerdgirl said:

Maybe you should have Gold going through his day and realizing how thoroughly Belle isolates herself and how little thought he put into the day to day business of being a husband. He wanted to save her, but now what?

tinuviel-undomiel said:

FSP Prompt: some busybody drops in to the house supposedly to off his/her congratulations, but really to see if he/she can dig up any dirt on Belle and Gold of the gossip mills.

* * *

It was all a terrible miscalculation. It hadn't occurred to Rhys when he'd asked her to marry him that she'd ever feel comfortable enough to be in the same room with him for more than an hour or so at a time. The fact that she might at some point want to kiss him (repeatedly!) hadn't even crossed his mind. The first time had taken him by surprise, but he'd assumed it was a one-time thing - a girlish curiosity, perhaps. The second time she'd done it, though, had proven him wrong. It was still possible she felt nothing more than gratitude. Gratitude would be the most natural thing in the world, after all. Marrying her hadn't been a particular hardship, but he'd certainly been under no obligation to do so, and he could understand that his kindness may have awoken some feelings in her.

Gratitude, though, did not explain why she'd asked him to take her to the bookstore. Escorting a lady to the store was an activity to be undertaken during courting, for the most part. It wasn't improper or unheard of for a husband to take his wife to a store, but it wasn't so common as to make her feel uncomfortable about going alone. There was no reason for her to ask him to accompany her except that she trusted him and wanted him around. He'd always meant to earn her trust, but her desire for his company had been very unexpected. There was no way this could end well.

Belle had her arm through his and was clinging to him tightly while they moved through the shop. He wondered what she was thinking about. Was she scared? Anxious? Was she even thinking about this as much as he was? Were the books the trigger or the sofas? What were the things that caused her to panic? And the question that loomed largest on his mind and somehow held more importance than any of the others: did she bring him here as a form of comfort?

The bookshop was run by Mr. Simon, an older man with glasses and a strangely timeless face. He might have been forty-five, he might have been a hundred. Rhys hadn't had much call to visit him since he moved into the village, but they'd crossed paths a few times. At the sight of Belle, Mr. Simon's face underwent a most unusual series of changes, splitting into a wide smile before he glanced around suspiciously and averted his gaze. Rhys had felt Belle's fingers curl a little bit harder around his arm after the man had stopped looking at her, but he wasn't sure what to make of it.

The only other person in the store was a woman of middle years (perhaps a bit younger than Rhys himself) who was shopping with a maid. He recognized her by sight, though they weren't particularly well acquainted. This was the puritanical Mrs. Faye Bluett, head of the neighborhood matrons. He had met her once on the street not long after he had moved to the village. She'd pestered him about attending Sunday services, and the look on her face when she'd determined he had no intention of complying could have melted steel. Since then, he had been at a handful of parties in which she had been in attendance (primarily those thrown by Belle's father) but they'd not exchanged more than a few words.

Mrs. Bluett seemed distracted by furiously scribbling something onto a piece of paper and didn't notice the newcomers right away, though how anyone could miss Belle was beyond Rhys. His wife had stars in her eyes as her fingertips danced across the spines of the books. Periodically, she would pull one down and hand it to Rhys, who dutifully carried them until his stack became too heavy, at which point he would carry them to the shopkeeper's counter and set them in a pile.

Rhys didn't remember ever seeing his wife this focused on any one task. She was usually very alert about her surroundings, which precluded her from ever doing one thing for too long. It was mesmerizing to see her completely absorbed in her own little world as she traced the gilt lettering on the leather covers and chose which things she'd like to add to her library.

After Rhys had made his third trip to the counter and was already holding two new books for his fourth, they were interrupted by a dainty little _ahem_ from behind them. Belle paused and glanced behind her, and Rhys was unfortunately obliged to turn away from his wife to face Faye Bluett herself.

The matron had a look on her face somewhere between pity and scorn, and he had a very, very bad feeling about what would come next.

"Lady Belle!" Mrs. Bluett said with a voice dripping with faux concern. "How good to see you out and about."

"Thank you," Belle replied, standing up just a hair straighter. "But it's Mrs. Gold now."

This wasn't something they'd really discussed. Practically, Belle was permitted to retain her title after their marriage, and it would have been expected although not mandatory for her to do so. Her claiming _Mrs. Gold_ over _Lady Belle_ was a statement in and of itself. It was equally a claim on him and a surrender of her life before, and a part of him loved that she was claiming this as her new identity. More than anything, Rhys was a man who could understand the urge to become somebody new. Mrs. Bluett, however, didn't look impressed.

"I did hear about your wedding, dear," she said, patting Belle on the arm and glancing at Rhys. "I'd meant to call on you, of course. I just haven't had time."

They'd been married for close to two months. None of the neighborhood women had 'had time' to call on Belle to congratulate her since. Not that it had been a hardship for either of them, since she still wasn't particularly up for company, but etiquette demanded congratulations for a new bride. The fact of the matter was that his wife was being snubbed and everyone knew it. Belle had the fakest smile on her face Rhys thought he'd ever seen, and his mind was racing trying to figure out how to extract her from the situation without ruining their day out when Mrs. Bluett continued.

"It was all just so sudden," the matron said with a tsk. "And no honeymoon, either. But then I suppose in _your_ circumstances, some lapse in propriety is to be expected."

"Tell me, how _is_ the vicar, Mrs. Bluett?" Belle said sharply, surprising Rhys with her quick change of subject. "I'd heard his wife has been visiting her mother, so I'm sure he's very happy for your company."

Rhys wasn't entirely sure what Belle had meant by that, but Mrs. Bluett turned a brilliant shade of red before turning on her heel and stalking out of the store. Belle's ears were beginning to turn pink as well and he could see the tears that she was fighting hard not to shed glistening in her eyes.

"I truly dislike that woman," she muttered, turning back to the bookshelves quickly. "She's a hypocrite and a gossip."

He wanted to comfort her, but he wasn't sure how with his arms filled with books and her shoulders practically shaking with rage.

"I don't think anyone likes her," he said as soothingly as he could, trying to give her some space. "But I've never seen anyone get rid of her so easily, either. You'll have to tell me how you did that."

"Mrs. Bluett and the Vicar have been having an affair for years," she said simply. "Since before he was married, actually. It's not exactly common knowledge and she wields enough power that I doubt anyone's ever confronted her with the truth before. But I suppose I don't have anything left to lose now, do I?"

She sighed, and he watched the tension ease out of her shoulders. She didn't relax, exactly - she was still agitated, just not on high alert. She mostly seemed resigned to her fate and her lot in life.

"You're right," he agreed, glancing toward the door to be sure the vile woman stayed gone. "She _is _a hypocrite. You're worth ten of her."

"I'd like to go home now," Belle said in a soft voice. "I'm tired."

"Of course," he replied. "Just let me arrange to have these delivered."

She nodded, trailing behind him back to the counter where Mr. Simon had been writing in his ledger and evidently trying very hard _not_ to notice the little confrontation that had just happened.

"Is this everything?" the little man asked them, adjusting his spectacles and making a quick tally.

"Indeed," Rhys replied. "We'll need for them to be delivered."

The shopkeeper nodded, glancing back towards Belle.

"I just got a new shipment in," he said to her with a kind smile on his face. "Translations of Indian texts. I haven't even had a chance to go through them."

She had perked up a little at that, and Rhys could see her torn between wanting to be home and wanting to see these new things.

"We'll take them," Rhys said before she could answer. "One of everything. Add them to the pile and have them delivered."

Both Belle and Mr. Simon seemed shocked at this little display, but dammit, his wife was upset and he was going to do whatever he could to fix this. He was the one who had failed to shield her from the meddling, he was the one who could make it right.

"Of course," Mr. Simon replied smoothly, making a little note on the sales slip and calling into the back for his assistant to set aside the Indian books for Mrs. Gold.

Once that was settled, the man wrapped up a few of the books off of Belle's stack for her to take home immediately. Belle didn't seem particularly surprised Mr. Simon was doing this, and he didn't need to be asked. It occurred to Rhys that this must be something they did regularly, or at least had done in the past. How many times had Belle come shopping here and left just like this?

Mr. Simon spared Belle another kind smile as they exited the shop, and Rhys handed her into the carriage before joining her. She seemed to have become smaller since that morning, and he realized that he hadn't noticed how hard she'd been trying the last few weeks. Belle had gone from jumping at shadows to boldly leaving the house. For some reason it hadn't occurred to him how difficult this must have been for her, or how much bravery it had taken. Nobody knew better than he did how big a risk it really was, and he should have known she'd be exhausted by it.

Belle never used to isolate herself that way, he remembered. She had always been a cheerful and outgoing girl before - she must be so lonely now, locked away as she was.

It hadn't ever occurred to Rhys that Belle might need more than a home and protection from the world. He'd never stopped to think that perhaps she might even _want_ more than to spend her days wandering the halls. She was naturally gravitating towards him, because he was the only person she really spent any time with who wasn't a servant. Proximity and gratitude could do a great deal to endear a man to any woman, no matter the circumstances.

Rhys wished he knew the right thing to do for her. Belle was still so fragile and he honestly wasn't sure what to do about that. If he were a better man, he'd deserve her attention. But he wasn't a better man - there were people who would argue he wasn't even a particularly good one, though he had managed to shield her from most of that. He hadn't wanted to risk her developing feelings for him, though. Truth be told, he hadn't really wanted to risk developing feelings for her, although that ship seemed to have sailed. Belle was still so fragile, and he had just wanted her to be safe. He knew he wouldn't hurt her intentionally, but if she had begun to care about him she had opened the door for him to cause her pain without realizing it.

"I have to go to London for a few weeks," he blurted out. "Neal is having trouble with some investors, and I'll need to be in the office."

"Oh," she replied. "Alright."

London was the one place he knew she wouldn't follow him. Not yet, anyway. He could go to London and let her affections fade. She'd be safe in their home and near her father. He knew it was cowardly to run away from her like this, but he wasn't prepared for any of this. He'd not thought through the reality of being a husband before he'd become one, and now it was too late.


	14. Roses

rowofstars said:

FSP prompt: I want something where Belle comes across something that hints at the events in Gold's past, but she's afraid and unsure of how to bring it up to him/get him to talk about it, and she wonders if it influenced his decision to marry her.

* * *

Belle wasn't sure what had taken Rhys to London, and a part of her was a little hurt that he'd gone. It was silly, she knew, to be jealous that he'd been called away. She had known before their wedding that his business would sometimes draw him back to the city, but somehow she hadn't ever quite prepared herself for the possibility of him leaving - she hadn't really thought that she'd become so attached to him that it would matter.

Beyond missing him, though, she was just lonely. Lizzie was good company and they spent hours practicing her sewing together, but an employee wasn't quite the same thing as a friend. Her father had a standing invitation to come visit her whenever he wanted (which he had taken her up on a few times) but he had estates to manage, and honestly she didn't really want to spend so much time with him. Her father was always waiting for her to go back to the girl she had been before, and Belle was so tired of trying to be her that sometimes she wanted to scream. She wasn't that girl anymore. She didn't think she could ever go back to being her even if she wanted to, and something in her rebelled at the very idea of ever being that naive and helpless again.

At the very least, Belle was keeping busy. Her books from the shop had arrived a few days after Rhys had left and she was setting aside an hour or two a day to read and catalog her new treasures. She could have had someone else do it, but she'd missed being around books. It was still hard for her to focus long enough to read one all the way through, but just getting to touch them and move them around felt strangely soothing, even if her focus was lacking.

Her library wouldn't have rows of shelves and books pressing in on her. She could no longer handle the strangely stuffy feeling that she had once found cozy and protective, but she had much more space than she did books to fill it with, and it would be a while yet before she had to worry about overwhelming her room. As long as she was careful, she could feel safe here.

Aside from sewing with Lizzie and moving things back and forth between her bedroom, sitting room, and library, her only other real distraction was the day-to-day minutia of running a house. This is what she'd been raised to do, really. She could manage a team of servants far larger than this one and oversee an estate complete with tenants. She'd been the lady of her father's house since she could read a ledger; she could run Rhys' house with her eyes closed.

She'd begun making little projects for herself to keep her mind occupied. Her latest project was scouring the attic for anything she might want to move into one of her rooms. Rhys had only moved into this house ten or so years ago, but he had still accumulated quite an assortment of things. Belle was beginning to suspect her husband was a bit of a magpie.

The attic was a veritable cornucopia of beautiful things, and Belle was sure she could get lost in there for days if she wanted to. There was something so exciting about being someplace quiet and alone with her thoughts where nobody would come for her. So far, she had found some little statuettes she liked for the library and a beautiful little Georgian writing desk with spindly legs. There was also a set of watercolor landscapes that had a mate in her library already which she had definite plans for.

A little chest finally caught her eye as she prepared to descend the stairs again. It wasn't ornate or special in any way, and that made it stand out amongst the other things in the attic. The chest was made of pine, and it looked older than almost anything else there. Looking into it would be snooping, and she'd been raised as a lady. Ladies didn't snoop - they were patient and never so curious as to go digging through their husband's secret chests. But Belle had been ruined and cast out from polite society and had married far below her previous station. For all intents and purposes, she wasn't a lady anymore. Besides, if Rhys had really wanted to keep everyone out, he'd have locked it, wouldn't he?

The chest, it turned out, was something she definitely shouldn't have opened. It was a hope chest, but couldn't be his first wife's. The things in it were old and worn, and even beside that, they were clearly not of a decent quality. Belle didn't know much about Neal's mother, but she knew that she'd been the daughter of a shop owner and would have had things made of a much higher quality fabric than this. Still, though, even as she took things out and handled them she was struck by the delicate perfection of the stitches. There were baby clothes, too, tucked under blankets. Tiny little things rendered in homespun and stained from use and lovingly cleaned. Someone had cared desperately about these things and the child who wore them.

She shouldn't be looking at these things, and she set them back into the trunk even as another one caught her eye. This one was a Christening gown, though not nearly as ornate as the ones Belle had seen. Inside this gown there was a little tag with initials sewn into it: RMP. She didn't know who the baby who had worn it was, but something about it disturbed her enough to finally shut the lid of the trunk and make her way down the stairs. Someone would need to help her move the writing desk, and she needed to be outside for a little while to put her thoughts together.

A few days later, Belle heard the sounds of a horse. She was in her library at the time, seated at her writing desk although she had nobody to write to. She was awaiting a reply to her last letter from her husband,. She felt her pulse quickening at the sound of the carriage, torn between hope that Rhys had returned to surprise her and terror at the idea of who could possibly be coming to visit.

The library faced out over the front of the house, so she went to the window and looked out. She saw a man, and it took her a moment to recognize Jefferson from straight above. She felt her shoulders sag as the tension that had crept up her spine from the moment she first heard the horse in the drive. She hated these little moments of fear she still had. It was close to a year since the...incident. Belle was starting to wonder if she'd ever stop feeling that sense of impending doom.

If Jefferson was back in the house, then it was likely a message for her, so when the inevitable knock came at the door her only surprise was that he hadn't changed or cleaned himself off before coming to see her. She turned and saw the man himself standing there waiting for her audience. He still had his traveling clothes on, which wasn't at all like him.

"Is my husband alright?" she blurted out, suddenly concerned again.

"He was the last time I left him," Jefferson replied flippantly, dropping into a courtly bow. "He sent me with a message."

Jefferson reached into his bag and pulled out a letter sealed with wax and offered it to her. Belle recognized her husband's seal and smiled at it in spite of herself.

"Is that all?" she asked, holding the envelope close to her chest. "He can't have sent you all this way for a letter."

Although if he had, she was going to be in desperate danger of falling head over heels in love with him.

"No," he admitted. "I'm supposed to be getting his rooms ready. He's planning to return this week."

Belle didn't really believe that, and didn't make any attempt at hiding that fact. The maids could have opened the rooms with a note, and he certainly didn't need to make Jefferson ride all the way back from London just to deliver a note. She eyed him, and he seemed to be fighting to contain a bit of a smirk as her gaze traveled down to his bag, still sitting at his hip...and moving.

"Your bag is awake," she said, and he instantly turned to his side, pulling the flap up.

"There was also a gift to go with that letter," he replied, reaching into his bag and pulling out a little ball of fluff that he held out to her.

Belle gasped, tentatively taking the puppy into her hands. It was a tiny little white and blonde King Charles Spaniel with a large red ribbon tied around her neck.

"Oh my goodness," she couldn't help but squeal. "Where did she come from?"

"This little girl is the product of one of the top breeders in the city," Jefferson said with a smug little grin that told her this had been at least partially his idea. "Your husband thought you might appreciate the company."

"He thought right," she cooed, curling the puppy up in her arms like a baby. "She's so precious. Does she have a name?"

"That would be your choice," he replied. "She's freshly weaned this week, which is why I returned early."

"Hmm," Belle hummed more to the puppy than to him. "I'm going to have to think about that."

The puppy was adorable with curly fur around her ears and belly. Belle's father had spaniels he kept for hunting, but the King Charles line was a companion animal. The little baby was extremely awake now, and was already wriggling around with excitement at the new person to meet. Belle set her on the floor and she instantly dove under Belle's skirts. She shrieked and giggled, backing away from the puppy who bounced after her.

Jefferson was watching her curiously, and she was surprised that she'd almost forgotten he was even there.

"If there's nothing else?" he said cheerfully.

"No, no," Belle said instantly. "You can go. Thank you for bringing my gift."

He gave her another one of his flamboyant bows before leaving her alone with the puppy. There was so much she would need to do still - the dog would need a name, and a bed. She would need to get collars and leashes, too. The puppy was now sniffing around the floor, and Belle suddenly realized that the dog had been inside a bag for hours and had been woken from a nap to meet her. It was probably time for a quick trip outside.

It had been awhile since Belle had gone on one of her long rambling garden treks. She was still taking a daily walk out of habit, but she wasn't taking nearly as many because of her panic states. Having the puppy with her almost made it feel like a normal occasion. She wasn't broken and ruined, she was simply a lady walking with her dog. The sun was shining and the puppy was bounding through the flower beds. Belle should probably stop her and insist she stay to the grass, but she couldn't bring herself to put an end to her joy.

"Look at you," she cooed to the puppy as she crouched in the grass next to the rose bushes the puppy was sniffing around. "Are you a little flower today?"

The puppy was absorbed with digging a hole as Belle kept chattering at her.

"Are you a little flower? A little rose?" she asked the dog, surprised when the puppy's head snapped up and she came bounding over. "Is that your name? Are you Rose?"

The puppy wagged its tail, trying to climb into Belle's lap and succeeding only in knocking her over. This seemed to suit Rose just fine, because it allowed her to lick Belle's face and knock her hair half out of her pins.

If her father could see her now, she doubted he'd even recognize her. Something about that thought soothed Belle a little bit. She _was_ getting better, and she just had to remember that. She was better today than she had been when it happened, and maybe next year would be even better.


	15. Metamorphosis

rowofstars said:

FSP prompt: I can already tell I'm going to desperately need something where Rhys is away for a few days, and Belle and Jefferson have some adorable bonding time such that when Rhys comes back he wonders what happened while he was gone and how it is that they are such cute friends now.

* * *

Rhys knew he should have come home sooner, he just couldn't bring himself to face his wife. He'd been an idiot to leave in the first place and he'd known it was a bad idea before he even left, but by the time he'd made that realization it had been too late to gracefully back out. He'd sent the puppy ahead more as an apologetic gesture than anything else, and even so he was a little ashamed of himself for not having thought of it sooner.

As far as he could tell, his wife was profoundly lonely. The puppy could love her unconditionally with no reservations about her reputation and her past, and more importantly, the puppy would be a comfort to her in a way he couldn't be. Perhaps it had been cowardly to send Jefferson ahead with the dog the moment it was old enough to be separated from its mother, but he had hoped to give her a chance to bond with the dog (and he sincerely hoped the puppy would distract her from him). So he'd packed up his bags about a week after Jefferson left and rode out from Neal's house, feeling his son's judgment following him all the way home.

Neal hadn't been exactly supportive of his father's visit, seeming to suspect that his father had made a mess of everything from the first moment he saw him in the drive. He was too kind to demand the details of his father's failures as a husband, but Rhys knew he was getting by on his son's good graces and not his own subtlety.

When he returned home, something felt strange. It was a hard thing to put his finger on, but it finally occurred to him that this felt like Belle's house now more than his. Her little changes were everywhere from the new flowers in the garden to the statues that had been set by the drive. Belle had made herself at home while he had been gone, and the house now felt like her.

He was standing in the drive gathering his courage to go in and face her when something bumped his leg. Rhys glanced down, only recognizing it was Belle's puppy after a moment. He'd only met the dog twice, once when he selected her and once when he'd picked her up.

"Hello girl," he said, crouching down to scratch her ears. "Are you being good?"

The dog didn't respond, instead jumping up on his trousers and yipping a little bit. He barely had time to wonder where Belle was, because as soon as he looked up she was there. She must have been walking the dog in the gardens, because she was wearing leather shoes under a simple day dress (and not, for some reason, a walking dress). His heart skipped a little beat at the sight of her standing there watching him with something approaching a smile on her face.

It took him a moment to remember to stand up, he shouldn't miss her so much after so short a time, but he did. The puppy seemed content to circle his ankles as Belle approached him slowly. What had he been thinking leaving her?

"You're home," she said simply, clutching the front of her skirt in her hands. "I wasn't sure when to expect you."

"I wasn't sure when I'd be coming," he replied, hoping she could understand how sorry he was to have left in the first place.

"Was your trip successful?"

It took him a moment to remember his excuse to go to London - he'd had business to attend to and that Neal had needed help.

"It was," he fibbed. The dog had been a success, anyway. "I shouldn't need to go back for a good while, though."

"That's good," she replied earnestly, and it was the easiest thing in the world to believe her. "Thank you for my gift."

"It's no matter," he replied, feeling the present still sniffing his shoes. "She reminded me of you."

It wasn't a lie, and he could tell it had been the right thing to say as soon as he saw her blush and flash him a sweet smile. It was so easy in that moment to lose himself in how blue her eyes were when her cheeks were so pink. Suddenly, her eyes darted down to his feet and her entire expression changed.

"Rosie!" she exclaimed. "Bad girl!"

He followed her gaze to his feet just in time to see the puppy moving away and the puddle gathered around his feet. Belle immediately reached down and scooped the dog up, continuing her gentle scold of the dog as he stepped away. Jefferson was going to have a fit when he saw this, but he thought that might actually make getting peed on worth it.

"I'm so sorry," Belle said. "We're still working on that. I think she was just excited to see you."

"It's fine," he replied instantly, needing to reassure her that he wasn't mad. If anything, Rosie had saved him from making a fool out of himself. "I'll go get cleaned up."

"All right," she said. "I'll see you later?"

It was the so incredibly tempting to believe she wanted his company as he left her standing in the garden with his ruined shoes and damp hem, and he hoped desperately she'd seek him out later because he didn't know if he was brave enough to look for her.

Jefferson was brushing out a coat when Rhys found him.

"Home already?" the valet said nonchalantly. "How was your trip?"

"It was fine," Rhys replied. "Perfectly ordinary. I'll need new trousers."

"Of course," Jefferson said, going to the wardrobe and pulling out day a day suit. "Are you going to want to take a bath to get the road off you?"

"I suppose I probably should," Rhys said, looking down to where Rosie had christened his leg. "I had a run-in with the puppy when I got home."

Jefferson's eyes followed Rhys' and he immediately grimaced. Rhys could feel the judgment radiating off the other man, but instead of saying anything Jefferson merely narrowed his eyes in a vaguely accusatory way for a moment before raising his hands up and walking away. Rhys let out a sigh of relief at being left alone as he sat down heavily on the stool set against the wall for him to use while changing. His leg was stiff from travel, and he felt like an idiot. Rosie's reaction to his arrival was really just the perfect finish to the day. He probably deserved it, anyway.

Once Rhys was bathed and in clean clothes, his mood was substantially improved. He was home, and she'd been happy to see him - there wasn't much else he could have hoped for (besides not being urinated on, anyway).

He didn't mean to invade Belle's space, but somehow he found himself wandering in the direction of her library anyway. Just to peek in, he decided. Just to make sure she had made use of it and didn't need anything else.

Belle was sitting in a window seat with her legs curled up under herself and the puppy snoring lightly on a cushion nearby when he reached the doorway. She had a book resting in her lap, though he couldn't see the title from where he stood, and her face was turned away from him while she watched the world outside. He wasn't sure what she saw out there, but he had the sudden image of a princess in a tower waiting for her prince to come and rescue her, and he felt a sharp pang of regret that she was, instead, trapped with him.

Rhys shouldn't be looking at her like this. She was clearly all right, and he was interrupting a private moment. He was about to try to sneak away when suddenly Rosie snuffled and roused herself, stumbling off the pillow to go greet Rhys and drawing Belle's eyes toward him.

"Hello," he said as normally as he could when he felt like a child who'd been caught spying. "I uh, just wanted to make sure you didn't need anything."

He felt like an idiot even as he said it. Of course she didn't need anything, she'd been fine. There were servants to get whatever she needed and he wasn't one of them.

"I don't," she replied kindly. "But please come in. I wouldn't mind some company."

He'd left in the hopes that she'd stop wanting him around if he was gone long enough, and yet her voice drew him into her library as surely as a moth drawn to an open flame. He really was hopeless.

"Are you settling in well?" he asked. "It seems your guard dog has adjusted, at least."

"Yes," she answered, scooping the squirming puppy back up into her arms before she could trip Rhys. "Everything is perfect, thank you."

He glanced around looking for a topic of conversation before his eyes landed on the writing desk she'd brought in.

"I see you found the attic," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I hope it's not a problem, I brought some things down I thought would look nice."

"Not a problem at all," he replied, though there were a few things up there he really hoped had escaped her notice. "But there's no need for you to comb through the attic. If you want something, then buy it."

"I enjoyed it," she said as she set her book on the seat next to her and picked up her embroidery from a basket on the floor. "You have beautiful things up there, you know."

"I do," he replied. "How did you get the desk downstairs, anyway?"

"Lizzie and I tried to move it ourselves," she said. "But when Jefferson came back, he and the gardener finally brought it in for us."

The way she ran her fingers down the thread over and over again was the only outward sign he could see that she'd been even a little uncomfortable with this intrusion, and he was so proud of her for having wanted the desk badly enough to suffer through it even with her maid there for comfort.

Belle had a very limited circle of men she was comfortable being around, and Gold was the only one of them who she hadn't known since she was born. He really shouldn't have left her alone.

There was a knock on the door and Belle was on her feet before Gold could even get his cane under himself and turn around. Jefferson was standing there holding an absolutely enormous hat covered in ribbons and silk flowers with a long veil covering the face.

"You finished it!" Belle exclaimed, bounding forward in a way strangely reminiscent of the puppy. "Thank you so much!"

"You're very welcome, my lady," Jefferson replied, handing her the hat with one of his theatrical bows. "And please, let me know if you would like another one. It's not often I get to do much with hats."

This last bit was said with an amused glance toward Rhys that Belle seemed to miss, preoccupied as she was with touching every single flower on the hat.

They made small talk for a few minutes while Rhys watched, and he was absolutely stunned when Belle dismissed Jefferson with a friendly smile and returned to her seat opposite Rhys.

"Do you like it?" she asked him as she held the hat up. "Jefferson offered to make it for me after Lizzie and I proved to be absolutely hopeless."

"It's very nice," Rhys answered around a strange lump in his throat. "He did an excellent job."

"Didn't he?" she replied, still fascinated by the hat and draping its veil over her fingers delicately. "I wanted something to wear out walking Rose. It's not practical to carry a parasol with the dog, after all."

"I imagine not," he said. "It will suit you very well."

He'd never known his wife to take any real care about the sun in her little walks, and she had the smattering of freckles on her face and chest to prove it. It was considered the height of impropriety for a wealthy woman to allow herself to get sun like that, but Rhys hadn't been raised wealthy and rather liked the little spots on Belle. They made her seem more carefree than she perhaps was, more like a girl who didn't know fear. Still, liking her freckles (or even pointing out that he had noticed them) was something he was fairly certain it was in his best interest not to mention, because it would only serve to make her more self-conscious than she might already have been about them. He at least knew _that_ much about women, anyway.

What was really surprising him about the entire affair, though, was that she had gotten accustomed enough to Jefferson's presence to have him making a hat for her. Maybe he wasn't as singular in her trust as he'd thought?

"Did you know he has a daughter?" Belle's voice broke into his increasingly melancholy thoughts, and it took him a moment to realize she meant Jefferson.

"Yes I did," he replied. "Grace. She lives with his mother in the village."

"It must be awful to be separated from her," Belle continued. "Not that I have a child, but I can't imagine being away from my father when I'd been that age."

"He went into service after his wife died," Rhys explained. "He makes good money, but you're right, it doesn't leave him much time with his daughter."

"Poor dears," Belle said with a little sigh. "Do you think we could find some way for him to spend more time with her? I just hate for the child to be without mother and father."

His wife had a soft heart, and it was hard not to love her a little bit more for it.

"I'm sure I can find something," he replied, and he would, even if he had to bring the girl to live in the house with them. He was sure there was some occupation Belle could find for a little girl and perhaps Grace would provide another distraction in Belle's life as well. A motherless child in need of love and a dog to be coddled...Perhaps that would be all she would need, and he could be content that she was happy and that he had been able to save her.


	16. The Unchosen Path

No Gold or Belle this time, but enjoy some beta couple action that will become far more important later on in the story.

* * *

Gaston was rapidly becoming more sympathetic towards deer he'd chased on hunts. He'd been spared the worst of London's social season by being engaged, but now here he was in the middle of a New York ballroom while debutantes swanned across the dance floor in more shades of white and pastel than he'd ever seen in his life. He was going to have to dance with someone - ideally, he was going to have to marry someone. He hated dancing, and he'd never been good at talking to women. This was bound to be an absolute disaster. It wasn't the first time he'd been homesick for the country estate on this trip, but it was the first time he'd ever been abroad and the feeling seemed so much more acute now.

He scanned the room again (being among the tallest men in the room having more than one benefit), resisting the urge to make a run for it. As the heir to a title (even one that wasn't particularly prestigious at home) he was a frequent point of interest. Everyone knew why he'd come, and he knew precisely what they wanted from him. It was all so damn mercenary.

At least the punch was decent. And the American girls were very friendly, if a bit more forward than he was used to. He'd heard as much from friends who had been to both countries, but hadn't been prepared for the truth of it. In England, young ladies of quality would scarcely look at you without a proper introduction. Their American cousins, however, would march right up to him and offer their names. It had taken some getting used to, but he rather thought he might like it.

The previous dance had come to an end and he waited for the music to start up again before he made his way out to the fresh air. It was far too hot inside, and he wanted to savor one last moment of freedom before he went back and did the right thing for the estate. He just couldn't quite face the future quite yet. His hosts had a beautiful garden visible from the patio, and he found himself staring at it for the longest time. He wished he were home. He wished there'd never been a need for any of this. He was supposed to be married by now, and with any luck would have been well on his way to an heir. Everything had been laid out ahead of him, until suddenly it hadn't been. Gaston hadn't ever felt as unmoored in his life as he did now, standing on the patio of a near-stranger in the dark.

"You had the same idea, huh?" he heard from his left.

He hadn't realized that anyone was nearby, though that was silly in hindsight. It was a busy party, of course he wouldn't be the only one who needed a quiet moment.

"Forgive me," he said, making a little half-bow to the woman in red who was standing nearby. "I hadn't heard you come out."

"I'm pretty stealthy," she said with a little quirk of her eyebrow, holding her hand out for him to kiss. "So _you're_ the Earl everyone's so interested in meeting, then?"

He supposed the accent gave it away, though the idea of yet _another_ debutante to make small talk with was exhausting.

"Heir to a viscount, actually," he replied. "And you are?"

"Miss Lucas," she said. "But you can call me Ruby."

"Gaston," he said almost on instinct. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ruby."

"Well," she said with a wry smile threatening to overwhelm her face. "My grandmother heard there was a young - what did you say? - _heir to a viscount_ in town looking for a bride and seeing as I'm just about on the shelf she thought it would be a brilliant idea to insist we attend just on the off-chance I could catch his eye."

"Ah, of course," he replied, feeling sick of this conversation already and looking for an out. "And this is the part where I'm supposed to ask you to dance?"

"No," she said. "This is commiseration, not seduction. If I'd set my sights on you, you'd know by now."

Strangely, her vaguely affronted tone intrigued him. He'd spoken to more than a few other women tonight, and without fail every single one of them had flattered and giggled and tried to pretend like he was the man of their dreams. Ruby Lucas was friendly, but didn't seem to be trying to flatter him. She was almost definitely another one of the girls who was chasing a title, but this was a novel approach, at least, and he had to leave New York with _someone_.

"My apologies," he said at last. "So if you're not here to find a husband, what brought you?"

"It was easier to come than to argue about it," she replied. "My granny is dedicated to marrying me off before it's _too late_."

She said the last words with a little grin that had his heart in his throat for a second before he remembered this was essentially the prelude to a business arrangement.

"She hasn't quite come to terms with my decision not to marry," Ruby continued, and it was a struggle to keep the shock at her words off his face. Ruby was possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, with silky black hair, grey eyes, and a brilliant smile. He'd always thought of spinsters as women who for whatever reason couldn't quite catch a husband, not as a woman as lovely as Ruby Lucas.

"I can imagine she hasn't," he said at last. "May I ask what put you off the male sex?"

"You may," she replied cheekily. "But that doesn't mean I'll answer. Like I said, I thought I'd offer commiseration and the last friendly face who isn't scheming over you that you're going to see this side of the Atlantic."

"Well," he said, finding himself absolutely intrigued by her in spite of himself. "In that case, would you like to share any advice as to who I should ask to dance next?"

She hummed a little bit, looking at him for a brief moment before turning her attention through the glass doors to the ballroom beyond.

"Margaret is nice," she said at last, gesturing towards a blonde girl who was talking animatedly with a brunette, both of whom were wearing the frilly white debutante gowns that seemed to be the order of the evening and making Ruby in her dark red stand out so much more for contrast. "So is her friend Jade there."

"Interesting," he replied. "Why are you so sure I'll favor a debutante?"

"Wouldn't you?" she asked, looking up at him with a faux innocence belied by her wolfish smile. "They're both lovely girls, and plenty wealthy besides. What else are you looking for?"

The question itself caught him off-guard. He'd never put much thought into what sort of wife he wanted. His wife was supposed to be Belle, and once that had been changed he'd known that he would have to choose someone with money. Any other qualities were secondary considerations at that point, but he suddenly felt truly sad that Ruby Lucas had sworn off marriage. Not that he wanted to marry her after a ten minute conversation, but he'd have liked to at least dance with he. If nothing else, she was warm and witty and he wanted to know more about her; he wanted to know if she had a good sense of humor and what her interests were and see if he could make her smile again. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to dance, when he realized it was a fool's errand. He needed a bride, she didn't want a husband. It would be a colossal waste of both their time. She could, however, be a vital asset to him while he tried to make a choice. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Nothing," he finally managed to answer her. "I'm not looking for anything else."

"So there you go," she said triumphantly. "Go inside, ask one of them to dance and then ask the other one. You won't know if you like any of those girls until you talk to them."

"Right," he replied, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for the proceedings. "I'll just go do that, then."

"I'll leave you to it," she said as she took a step backwards and dropped into a shallow curtsey before turning to leave. "Have a good night, Mr. Heir-to-a-viscount."

"Goodnight," he said to her retreating form, unsure if she'd even heard him or not.

All things considered, that had not been a productive encounter.

Gaston made his way back inside, seeking out the two young ladies who he'd been directed towards and asked both to dance in turn. Ruby Lucas had been right, and they were both very charming young women, wealthy and sweet - though Margaret seemed a bit more interested in the music than in him. If he'd had any damn sense at all, he would have chosen one of the two, made a few calls and spoken to her father. Then he could have gotten this whole nightmare of wife hunting over with and returned home.

He had a duty to pick a wife, but something in him was refusing to just pick someone at random. The one thing Ruby _had_ most certainly done with her good natured teasing was remind him that he had no idea what kind of woman he'd have chosen to marry if duty hadn't made the choice for him. When he returned to his room late that night with sore feet and weary eyes, he resisted the siren song of his bed. Instead, he got a pen and marked a new page in his journal. There were choices to be made, and he wouldn't be able to sleep until he got what was in his head onto a piece of paper.

It began as a simple list of qualities he'd look for in a wife - _cheerful, good humor, even tempered, clever, witty, patient, industrious, kind._ Rapidly, though, it turned into longer entries which became more specific to his own interests - _likes to hunt, prefers to be outside than inside, enjoys children, doesn't need to be sheltered from the world._ As he wrote, he realized something that hadn't occurred to him before, if he'd been able to choose a wife he probably wouldn't have chosen Belle. He loved Belle, truly he did. He'd grown to manhood as her protector and friend, but he wasn't sure he'd ever loved her as he was supposed to love a wife. It had been taken for granted that the two of them would grow to love each other, but their interests had never aligned. Aside from the last year when she'd been taken with garden walks, she'd always preferred to be inside reading while he chafed if he had to be indoors too long. He was at his happiest outside in the sun and the country. They'd shared very separate spheres of interest, and that hadn't bothered him, but if he was allowed to have a preference…

Those were dangerous thoughts indeed. He had to choose correctly, he reminded himself. Whether his wife liked riding as much as he did could not be a factor in his decision. He moved on to another portion of his list, physical attributes. Here again he couldn't help but compare a potential bride with Belle. She'd been so small, sometimes he wondered how he would ever kiss her once they were older and his back not as strong. A taller wife, perhaps, would suit. Unbidden, his thoughts returned to Ruby Lucas - she'd been about the right height to be easily kissable.

He let out a sigh of frustration at his continued focus on the girl. He knew nothing about her except that she apparently had no interest in him. It was hardly an auspicious start to his American adventure, but he was determined not to become disheartened. Tomorrow he could go for a stroll and see if some time outside might put his thoughts back into order. Anyway, there would be plenty of dinners to attend in the following weeks and plenty of other balls. Surely, there had to be one woman in all of New York who could hold his attention.


	17. Lay Your Burdens Down

**Author's Note:** This chapter will deal with Belle's rape in some level of detail. It's not overly descriptive (Belle is the narrator of the scene and is describing it rather than reliving it, and so chooses to censor and omit the worse details of it) but this is far more detailed than I've gotten to date, and more detailed than I plan to get again. If you think this might disturb you, once the dog is on the bed just stop reading because that's basically the rest of the chapter.

* * *

Belle was having more good days than bad ones now. She still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, but she rarely woke up screaming anymore. On the days she did, though, she still couldn't get back to sleep after. Instead, she'd wander the halls a little bit. There were no hall boys here, no one to see her if she walked from room to room in her dressing gown. She wouldn't even carry a candle, instead moving about under the cover of darkness, imagining herself a ghost beyond the need for sleep or fear.

Her life was busier now than they had been. It was a nice change, though perhaps the fact that she wasn't fixating so much during the day meant she was freer to do so at night. It was hard to be sad, though, with Jefferson's daughter around. Belle wasn't quite sure what had convinced him to move Grace into the house (or if it had been her husband's idea, though he had denied it when questioned) but she was glad to have the child around. Grace was actually a bright, inquisitive girl of eleven who had proven to be quite helpful to Belle and Lizzie when Belle had decided she needed a new nightgown.

Rhys had caught them that day in their third hour of work, though how he could have gone that long without noticing the sounds of good humor and occasional frustration that the women had been making, Belle couldn't say. Grace had finally taken over once it became clear neither Belle nor Lizzie had any idea what they were doing. Rhys had come in while they were carefully pinning Belle's existing nightgown to the fabric for Grace to trace with a piece of chalk.

Their initial attempt at pattern making - involving Belle laying down while the other two traced around _her_ \- had been less than successful and necessitated sending Lizzie back out for more fabric (luckily, the first one had resulted in enough fabric they were able to make something for Grace out of it). Their second attempt went much better, and it was that one which Rhys had walked in on. Grace had been carefully tracing while Lizzie held the fabric even, and Belle had been sitting and watching the two as she embroidered little flowers on the shift they'd pieced together for Grace from the scraps of their failed attempt while Rose slept on her feet.

He hadn't said anything, and she hadn't noticed him right away. She'd been focused on her work, but also on watching little Grace try to explain to Lizzie that they had to trace about half an inch away from the nightgown or else there wouldn't be enough fabric to sew it and also on poor Lizzie's growing frustration with the entire process. It took her a long moment to even realize someone else was in the room, but when she'd glanced up he'd been there, standing in the doorway and watching her. He'd immediately averted his gaze when she'd smiled at him, as though he were afraid of her having noticed him, but he smiled back soon enough. The sound of the girls quickly fell away when he was looking at her, and she desperately wished in that moment that they had the sort of marriage where she could go to him and offer a kiss, and if she did so he'd feel comfortable wrapping his arms around her. She wished she had the sort of marriage where those little intimacies were expected and comfortable.

Belle didn't quite know where that impulse had come from. She remembered nothing of her parents' marriage, and what she'd seen of other marriages in no way indicated she should expect that sort of thing even in other circumstances. Certainly, she'd never expected it with Gaston. She didn't know why she craved affection from Rhys, or even how to ask him for it. He'd certainly never denied her anything she'd asked for, but she wanted this to be freely given.

There were times that she thought perhaps he did care for her more than he let on. There was no denying he'd been kind to her, far kinder than most men would be to a woman like her, anyway. It was selfish to hope for more, but she still found herself _wanting_.

It hadn't taken long for Rhys to slink away from the door, and she'd been surprised at how quickly she missed him when he was out of sight.

She woke that night from a nightmare - she was being held down and no one could hear her scream, or came to her rescue if they did. She tried to fight, but she wasn't strong enough and her captor was too large for her to win. She always woke up before he finished what he started, her mind at least protecting her from that final indignity.

The house was quiet as it always was at three in the morning, and Belle took full advantage of that fact to wander the halls looking for some kind of peace. It was counterintuitive to be afraid of the dark when she was in her bedchamber, but to seek it out here. Then again, there was something strangely comforting about being in a place no one would know to seek her out if they wanted to hurt her. She was protected by the shadows and the darkness as she tried to calm her mind. Rosie would join her on these walks through the house, too tired to bound after her like she usually did but too loyal to leave Belle to her own devices.

Belle was wandering through the hall downstairs when she realized there was a light coming from under the door of her husband's library. It wasn't a strong light, but in the perfect pitch darkness of the predawn hours, even the slightest hint of candlelight peeking under the door broke into her solitary darkness. She was still unnerved from her dream, and she could still feel the ghosts of hands holding her down and a body pressed against her chest. She was tired of being alone, though, and she was tired of those phantom hands groping her in the darkness to be the only ones she knew.

Bracing herself, Belle turned the handle and swung the door open as quietly as possible. She'd known it was Rhys the whole time, but she still felt the tension melt off her shoulders at the sight of him and nobody else. He was sitting in an armchair with a glass of some amber-colored liquid in his hand, and he got to his feet instantly at the sight of her.

"Belle," he said her name in a breathy whisper that set her nerves on edge in a different way than she was used to. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, stepping tentatively into the library.

"I couldn't sleep," she said softly. "I had a bad dream."

"Oh," he replied, an inscrutable look on his face. "Would you...do you want something to drink?"

No, what she wanted was to feel whole again and safe, but she was beginning to doubt that was even possible anymore.

"I do," she said instead, coming forward and letting him pour her a glass of what turned out to be scotch. "You know, ladies aren't supposed to drink spirits," she reminded him somberly, hoping he would accept her teasing.

"I suppose they're not," he said, sitting when she did as Rosie curled up at her feet and started snoring. "But I won't tell if you won't, and I hardly think a sip of scotch will bring you to ruin and damnation anyway."

"Some people might say I'm already ruined," she reminded him, and if she hadn't been watching him so closely she would have missed his flinch at her words.

"I wouldn't pay much attention to them," he said at last. "They're all damn fools. You're a woman, not a waterlogged book."

His words shouldn't have affected her, but the armor she'd been building around herself day by day since she was raped was failing her now in the darkness and the brutal honesty of the early morning hours, and she felt the tears coming only moments before they were spilling down her cheeks. Rhys was on his feet again in an instant, reaching out to her before backing away and putting the chair between them and she wasn't sure if he was afraid of her or thought she might be afraid of him, but either way the buffer between them just made her feel more alone.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her dressing gown and trying to regain her composure. "It's just...you're the only one who's ever seemed like they forgave me for what happened and for how much I changed."

He came back around from behind his chair, perching on the edge of it and taking her hands in his tentatively. She didn't pull away, though she thought he half expected her to.

"There's nothing to forgive you for," he whispered. "I promise you that. There's nothing to forgive on your end."

They sat like that in silence for a little while as she got herself back under control, though once she stopped crying he took his hands off of hers and returned to sitting in his chair,the silence growing thick and awkward around them. She took a sip of the liquor he'd poured for her, savoring the burning sensation as it slid down her throat. It was a pleasant distraction from the turmoil she found herself in now, sitting across from her husband and feeling as though her heart had been ripped apart and sewn back together in the fifteen minutes since she'd entered the room.

"May I ask you a question?" she said finally, more to break the tension than out of curiosity, though she knew exactly what she wanted to know the moment he nodded his assent. "What are you doing up this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep," he said at last, sipping his drink. "It happens sometimes."

Something in her tone told her she was treading onto treacherous ground, but she needed to know him now more than ever before.

"You have nightmares?" she asked him softly, and he nodded.

"Not often," he replied. "But yes, on occasion. You're not the only one with demons, my dear."

She was thinking of the chest she'd found in the attic, and the baby things with _RMP_ sewn into them. she wanted to ask him about them, and press for an answer to the question, but the lines of their marriage had been carefully drawn and she wouldn't push him further than he wanted when he'd been so careful about not pushing her.

"I'm tired," she said at last. "And so are you. You should come to bed with me."

She'd tried to say it as nonchalantly as she could, but still he practically choked on his own tongue at the suggestion.

"What?!" he squawked, setting his glass down.

"I'd like the company," she admitted. "I feel better when you're around, and I'm sick of being afraid whenever I'm asleep."

His mind seemed to be working faster than he could keep up with as it tried to parse her words, so instead of saying anything else, she stood and held her hand out to him.

"Please," she said. "I just want to not be frightened and alone anymore."

He looked up at her, before finally taking her hand and letting her lead him up the stairs into her bedroom while the puppy dozed still in the library. It was a big step, but she had to believe that it would be all right.

Rhys had no idea what was going on. He rarely had those nights where he couldn't sleep anymore, but he'd been so agitated that night that it had been a fool's errand and he'd wound up in his library trying to clear his head when Belle arrived to ask him into her bed. He knew she had only meant to invite him to sleep, but the casual intimacy of it was startling and terrifying. It had been so, so long since he'd shared a bed with anyone in any capacity and he'd truly never thought to ever be that close with Belle.

He hadn't been in her bedchamber since she'd moved in, and the little feminine touches strewn about unnerved him in their own way - hair ribbons and necklaces left casually on the vanity - as they walked silently through her sitting room and to her bed. Belle's shoulders were stiff as she took her dressing gown off and set it over a chair. It broke his heart a little bit, realizing this would be the most exposed she'd ever been to a man and how brave she was being to trust him in her most private place with her.

Belle was still so beautiful, even in her fear, and in her nightgown with her hair braided and draped loosely over her shoulder she looked like some sort of fairy, the kind his mother used to tell him stories about when he was a boy. He didn't dare to look directly at her, for fear of making her self-conscious about his presence and of being unable to control his physical reaction at the sight of her.

It took him a moment to realize he was in his own dressing gown still, and then to remove it and place it on an end table. Jefferson would have his head for not hanging it up, but Rhys needed Belle to see that he had no interest in taking the upper hand from her.

The bed had already been pulled back and slept in for at least part of the night, and Belle eased herself into it slowly, and he did the same taking all the time he could to give her a chance to change her mind and turn him away. She didn't say anything, though, as his head settled onto the pillow next to hers. The bed was big enough that if both stayed on their own side, there was no reason to touch each other, and he had no intention of doing anything more than sleep (assuming he could even manage that, attuned as he was to her presence).

They lay like that for what felt like ages, neither one making any sort of movement or sound. The were there so long that he was sure she must have gone to sleep at last, when he felt her shifting next to him, and slowly her hand found his under the covers. She wove her fingers between his and he could feel her scooting just a little closer. They still weren't touching aside from their hands, but he could feel the warmth of her seeping into him and he knew at that moment that he'd seriously underestimated her when he'd proposed. Belle was strong and brave and resilient, and whether she knew it or not, she would have been all right even without his attempts to rescue her. It wasn't a question now of whether she could ever be whole again, but of how greatly she was going to change his life as she healed.

Rhys didn't remember the last time he'd slept as well as he did with Belle's hand in his. It was a strange thing, sleeping next to each other like that. He'd half expected her to not be able to look at him in the morning, but she was all sweet smiles and a tentative invitation to join her the next night if he liked. He could only count his blessings that her maid was used to being summoned after Belle awoke rather than being in her room in the mornings, and that Jefferson was used to him falling asleep in chairs sometimes. Nobody even noticed anything strange about him returning to his bedroom in the morning, or asked where he had been.

It was very tempting to pretend like they'd never shared the bed and to go on leading their separate lives in the same house, but she'd sought him out the following evening after she'd already had her hair brushed and braided and asked him back again - and how could he resist the innocent temptation of her company in the dark?

The process of getting into bed together was a little less awkward this time around. She had been less nervous about shedding her dressing gown, and he'd been less afraid of overwhelming her with his presence. They both knew she'd never shared a bed with anyone before, even in this innocent fashion, and he didn't want her to regret him.

After a few days of sharing her bed nightly, things were no longer strange between them. He was used to the feel of her hand in his as he fell asleep, and he wasn't sure he'd have been able to sleep without it anymore. He was sleeping better, as well. Rhys had instructed Jefferson to simply lay out a new suit in the morning and to otherwise leave him alone until summoned, and the valet had been too excited at the prospect of spending the breakfast hours with his daughter to question why he was suddenly not needed to help his employer dress to cause too much of a fuss.

It was easy to forget the reality of the world those nights, but just because they weren't thinking about the bad things didn't mean the bad things had gone away. On their fifth night together, Rhys was woken up by Belle whimpering and thrashing in her sleep. It took his mind a few seconds to go from dead sleep to recognizing the sounds of a nightmare. He didn't even think twice before reaching out and shaking her shoulder, which had the dual effect of rousing her from her sleep and setting her into a panic trying to pull away from him.

"Belle," he whispered as she flailed under the blankets. "Sweetheart, it's just me. I'm sorry."

"Rhys?" she said in a watery voice, ceasing her struggles almost instantly.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "You were having a nightmare…"

He didn't even have time to finish his apology before she was clinging to him tightly and hyperventilating against his neck. Her entire body was wracked with strange, choked sobs and she was shaking so hard that he had his arms around her before he knew what he was doing.

"What's wrong?" he asked her. "What was it?"

"It was him," she sobbed. "I was back there again with him and I couldn't get away and people kept walking in and nobody said anything."

Her tears were warm and soaked through his nightclothes and into his skin, and it was all he could do to contain his rage on her behalf. Rage at the person who'd hurt her, but also at the ones who'd made it worse through inaction.

He couldn't spare rage, though. She needed him to be something else right now, so he shushed her and breathed little affirmations into her hair as he held her close. He was shaken to his core by the strength of her trust in him when it had never occurred to him that she might seek him out for comfort. The fact that she believed he could protect her made him feel stronger.

She was still hyperventilating, but her sobs had evened out a bit as he'd comforted her, and that in and of itself was beautiful.

"Shhh, sweetheart," he whispered to her. "Deep breaths, all right? Nice, deep breaths."

Belle shook a little as she inhaled and exhaled in time with his breathing, and then shuddered a final time when she finally seemed to regain herself.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, still not pulling away or moving her face from where it was pressed against her chest. "I don't usually get nightmares that badly anymore."

"Anymore?" he probed gently, hoping she'd understand that he would listen to her if she wanted to talk.

"I used to get them a lot," she replied. "Especially right after. It's mostly okay now, I haven't woken up screaming in weeks."

"I'm sorry," he said for lack of anything else to say. She deserved so much more.

"It's nothing," she said with a weak voice. "I'm used to them."

Her quiet acceptance of her own suffering hit him hard. She was hurting, she'd never stopped hurting; he couldn't save her from that.

Belle couldn't move away from him yet. Her lungs were burning from how deep she'd been breathing since she woke up, but the dream had been so damn _real_ that she could smell the stale scent of drink that had been on Nottingham's breath in the library, and she had filled her lungs with Rhys instead. He was clean and smelled of the cotton of his nightshirt and the lilac sachets that the servants used for the linens, and right now he was her entire world. He was all she could smell and hear and feel, and with the lights out that was all she needed. Rhys hadn't been there at all, and the fact that he was here now meant that she was safe and whole and nobody would hurt her in this little sanctuary they'd built in her bed.

"You're safe here," he said almost in response to her thoughts. "I promise, you'll be protected."

"I know," she replied, crushing her body closer to his as though she could keep out the bad thoughts if she were just closer to her husband. "I trust you."

He didn't reply to her, but his hands stilled on her back for a split second and she knew he'd heard.

"It's not about being frightened anymore," she admitted. "I'm not afraid. I know I'm safe, it's just...I can't convince my mind sometimes. It's like being a mad woman when it hits, but I can't control it. I _know_ nobody else will hurt me, though. I do."

She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more, because sometimes there was a very real fear that somebody else would try to hurt her. Not Rhys, really, or Jefferson anymore. But there were more than just those two men in the world and someday she would have to face some of them. She clung to her husband until she felt him shift away from her, and she was about to beg him to stay and not leave when she realized that Rosie was whining next to the bed. Rhys reached down to the floor and scooped the puppy up, putting it on Belle's other side. The poor thing must have been woken up by the commotion and come to see what was wrong. Once the dog was set on the bed behind Belle, she started sniffing around for the source of distress before settling for licking the tears off of Belle's cheeks. Belle giggled a little, burying her face further into Rhys' chest and reached back to scratch the puppy's head. Rosie seemed to sense it was okay now, settling into the bed at the small of Belle's back and falling asleep again.

With her husband in front of her and the dog behind her, Belle finally felt herself relax again. There was absolutely no pulling away from Rhys without disturbing Rose, and she didn't feel like going anywhere yet. She was warm and safe, and there was nobody who could get to her now.

"Better?" he asked her after Rose had settled.

"It is," Belle replied, taking another deep breath to fill her lungs with the scent of him again. "It's just so strange how it won't go away."

"It's not meant to," he said. "Some things are meant to stay with you."

"Perhaps," she said, feeling herself start to fall into the place between waking and sleep where everything felt like an odd dream. "But it was so _real_. It was like I never left the library, and he was still there."

Rhys made a little noise of affirmation, and her sleep-drugged brain took it as encouragement to continue.

"I was being held down," she said, feeling the words force themselves out now that she'd started. "And I was trying to fight, but I couldn't breathe with my corset being so tight...and then I couldn't move because he was so heavy and so I stopped fighting him and just hoped he'd get off so at least I could take a breath and then his hands - he was pulling my skirts up and I _did _try to stop him again but he just kept going. It was like I was nothing, I couldn't do anything to make him stop no matter what. I tried to scream, but I couldn't breathe...I should have screamed."

Rhys was kissing her temple, and petting her hair, but he didn't interrupt and she was so damn grateful for that because she'd never told anyone about it before. Everyone knew what had happened next, but she'd never said the words and now she couldn't keep them in.

"I remember staring at the curtains after that," she continued, talking through the tears that were flowing freely again. "I just turned my head and looked towards the window and just prayed he'd hurry up. I remember wishing the curtains were open so at least I could see outside, but instead I was trapped in the room with him and he...that's when he was working with his trousers and I just didn't know what to do. He stopped for a minute and I hoped that was it, but he just yanked my blouse open. He said it was so he could see and called me beautiful, and he kept muttering it over and over again. And then..." she still couldn't say what had happened next, but Rhys knew that part anyway. Everyone knew that part. It had hurt, but more than the pain had been the feeling of emptiness that had hit her afterward - it was as though she were just than an empty vessel or an object that could be used and discarded afterward with no more thought than one might toss away an old newspaper or a shirt that had been soiled. And then, the worst part. "Afterward, he got off of me and put himself together...and then he _thanked_ me, and said it had been his pleasure as though I'd encouraged him or even _wanted_ him to do it. And that's when I started crying. I just wanted him to go away and leave me be, but he wanted to stay and talk and that's when everyone else came in. They were playing hide-and-seek and were still missing one of the group. My dress was still open and even if it hadn't been, everyone knew."

She bit her lip to keep from sobbing outright, but she could still smell Rhys and Rosie was still warm against her back, so she knew it was okay. It was still just the two of them there in a dark room in a house far away from London, where nobody would ever come to hurt her.

"And they blamed you," Rhys finished the story for her, and she almost loved him in that moment for the anger he had on her behalf.

"Not right away," she replied. "Mary Margaret - Lady Nolan, it was her house - she took me upstairs and gave me laudanum water and helped me clean up and put me to bed. I didn't find out until later what had happened in the library afterward. Gaston called him out, but he refused and said he'd done nothing wrong. Lord Nolan told him to leave and the party broke up, but they all knew what had happened. I don't know who started the gossip, or if it was more than one. By the next morning, my father had come to collect me and my engagement was off and I was ruined."

She sighed, and let him hug her even though he didn't seem to know what to do about it. It was enough.

"Do you want some space?" he asked softly, and she shook her head.

"I don't want him to be the last person to really touch me," she admitted, and he whimpered a little before holding her tighter against him.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he whispered to her. "No one deserves what happened to you, no one should have to face that alone."

"They tried," she replied. "Gaston and my father both tried."

"It wasn't enough," he said firmly. "Your engagement never should have been broken over that."

"I'm glad it was," she said, not even realizing until she said it how true that was. "If it had to happen, I'm glad I didn't marry Gaston. I'm glad I married you."

If he'd been uncomfortable before, he seemed completely out of his depth now. She could feel his fingers tensing up and twitching a little bit where they sat on her back, but she couldn't take the words back now and wouldn't if she could have. It was the truth. She was glad to have married him, and she was glad to have had the choice of him.

She would probably regret her candor in the morning, but there was a lightness in her chest that hadn't been there before, and she hadn't realized how heavy the weight of never having said the words out loud had been before. She'd carried her burden so long that she barely remembered what it felt like to have it gone.

It was comfortable between Rhys and Rose, and Belle let her eyes begin to grow heavy at last as sleep began to claim her. She drifted slowly off to a dreamless sleep in her husband's arms, feeling for the first time as though she could someday not be so frightened as she had been. Perhaps this wasn't the life she'd always dreamed of, but it was warm and she was safe and how could she be unhappy with that?


	18. Like My Mirror Years Ago

Rhys didn't sleep much the rest of that night. He thought he might have dozed a few times, but he was so scared of Belle waking back up that he couldn't relax again;even if he could have, she was so soft and tucked against him so tightly that he didn't want to for fear that he'd wake back up to find it had been a dream. It had been a long time since a woman had slept with her head on his chest like that, or since anyone had trusted him so fully with themselves - if indeed, anyone ever had. He didn't think his first wife had ever truly _needed_ him, and in the beginning that had been what had attracted him to her. She seemed to know her way and when he'd not known his he had liked that. It turned out her way had been away from him, but his son had come from it and that was a good enough reason to have married her. Being married this time was an entirely different feeling than that. Belle needed him, or at least his protection, and she was willing to rely on him for that. It was an odd sensation, being needed, and he liked it.

By the time morning finally dawned, he had a plan forming, although he wasn't sure how Belle would feel about it. She'd shown him her heart last night, and he finally realized how intensely she still felt the pain of what had happened to her. It wasn't just about what had been done to her, but also what hadn't. Nobody had stood by her, nobody had truly been able to protect her, and she certainly hadn't been able to protect herself. If he could only give her one thing, he thought that this might be the one thing she would really need - a way to keep herself safe.

There was really only so much that could be done for Belle, but he would do what he could, and he had every intention of doing so as soon as they were out of bed. There wasn't long to wait. The puppy had started to stir at first light and was currently wriggling and snuggling next to Belle, rousing his wife from her sleep. She yawned a little and looked up at him sleepily before pulling away to acknowledge the puppy who was thrilled to crawl onto her chest and begin licking and kissing her face. Belle smiled widely before moving up into a sitting position. She seemed to be studiously avoiding looking at him again, and he missed her cautious trust from the night before.

"Good morning," he said at last, turning away so she wouldn't feel like he was staring at her. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she replied. "I hope I didn't keep you up."

"No, no," he fibbed, because she _had _kept him up but he hadn't minded at all. "I was very comfortable."

That part wasn't a lie. He'd been very comfortable with her there - if anything he'd been too comfortable to sleep since he didn't want to miss a single moment of her time. Belle smiled sweetly at that, but turned her attention back to the puppy who was starting to whine and was bouncing a bit.

"Uh-oh," Belle said in a sweet little sing-song voice. "Do you need to go outside?"

At the mention of the word 'outside' Rose started hopping and spinning and Belle quickly climbed out of bed. Rhys followed her, watching as she donned her dressing gown as Rose careened toward the bedroom door. Belle was in a little bit of a blur trying to get to the door to let the puppy out of her room, but paused with her hand on the knob.

"Will you come back to bed tonight?" she asked him.

"Of course," he replied, shrugging on his own dressing gown and preparing to walk down the hall to his bedchamber to prepare for the day. "Anything you'd like, my dear."

"I would like you to come back," she said. "I think I sleep better when you're here."

With that, she was out the door and down the stairs with the dog. He lingered a moment longer, just drinking in her presence for the few more moments he could before retreating to his own space.

There was a lot to think about that day. He received a letter from his son asking to come visit, and his first instinct was to immediately send a reply back accepting, because of course Neal was always welcomed to come. It was entirely out of character for his son to not simply show up on his doorstep and make himself at home. But that had been before, and Belle was there now. Neal was taking steps to make sure that she was comfortable, and Rhys would do the same. He didn't really think that she would have any objections, but then the last time she had met Neal it hadn't really gone so well and had resulted in her spending two straight days in bed.

Rhys set his son's letter aside until after he had a chance to talk to his wife. Instead, he penned a letter to his attorney in London asking him to look into a few things for him. There was a thought that had been brewing in his head all night, triggered by Belle's breakdown but the result of months of information he had acquired. He knew that Nottingham was a spendthrift who liked to gamble, and he knew that the vast majority of the landed gentry were in dire financial straits. He had no special knowledge of the man's finances beyond that, but he could make an educated guess that there was a vulnerability there that he could exploit if he was careful enough to do what he needed without anyone noticing. He would just require a bit of information first and he could start putting his plan into action.

Belle didn't like people touching her hair as a rule. Ever since the incident, it was difficult for her to be touched period, but something about having someone else brush her hair and set it while she sat there completely still...she hadn't been able to do it. Instead, she would put her hair into a simple bun in the morning and braid it herself in the evening. Now, though, she wanted to do something new. She'd been married a few months now, and Rhys had never seen her with anything else.

She was sitting watching poor little Grace trying to correct Lizzie's jagged cuts on the nightgown project as the two teased each other gently and suddenly she _needed_ to try something else.

"Lizzie?" she said, waiting until the maid looked at her before continuing. "Are you able to set hair?"

"A little," the girl replied. "Jefferson insisted I at least learn the basics before you came. Some of it stuck, I guess."

Belle could just imagine Astrid sitting for Lizzie under Jefferson's watchful eye until the poor girl got it right, and something about the image made her smile.

"I want to do something else with my hair," she said. "What do you think?"

"There are some magazines downstairs with pictures," Lizzie said. "Should I get them?"

Belle nodded and Lizzie left quickly before returning with the promised pictures. Grace joined them as well and the three began pouring over the various pages in search of something for Belle to do to her hair.

Without having curled it the night before, her options were limited, but Grace found a spread of a new style currently in vogue in America that involved loose waves piled on top of her head. It was a soft and lovely style, miles from what Belle was used to wearing.

They rapidly decided that this would be above Lizzie's capabilities, so Grace was sent to fetch a local villager's daughter who apparently had some skill with hair. By the time Rachel Sells arrived, Belle's hair was in a proper bird's nest, but thankfully not beyond repair. An hour or so later, the girl left with a decent compensation for her efforts and Belle had her hair set in a style that Lizzie was fairly certain could be replicated for daily wear.

It was amazing for Belle to see. The softness of the style suited her, and though she'd be entirely out of place back in London, here in the country house she could be whomever she wanted to be with nobody to judge her for it. Of course, why did she care if they judged her in London? The thought just about knocked the breath out of her, but luckily Grace and Lizzie had gone back to sewing lessons, so Belle was left with her embroidery and her sudden realization that she didn't care what London thought anymore. They had no sway over her. She could stay happily in the country with her husband for the rest of her life, and it would make no difference. Rhys didn't run the company anymore, and he had money enough for the two of them to be quite comfortable. As long as her actions didn't affect Neal...it didn't matter how she wore her hair. They would hate her regardless.

She almost started giggling from the sheer relief she felt at that moment. She'd already been judged to be fallen, the worst thing a woman could possibly be. She had been ruined, and yet she'd married anyway. Maybe not as well as could have been hoped, but she was happy enough where she was. Let them judge her! Let the whole world fall down around their ears and let them judge her. She had no fear anymore. The worst had happened, and she had come through it in one piece. She wouldn't say that what had happened to her made her stronger, but the last year had shown her that she could be strong in a way that had never been available to her before. Nottingham had tried to ruin her, to break her down into little pieces he could consume, and yet here she was on the other side of it entirely outside his domain and happy. She still had nightmares, and it was still a blight inside of her that she wasn't sure she'd ever shed, but the nightmares came less frequently and the darkness wasn't so unbearable anymore. Who would have thought she ever would have become this?

The biggest test of her new hairstyle came at dinner, when she saw her husband again. He'd been holed up in his study all day, and she generally didn't like to interrupt him when he was in there. The awestruck look on his face when she joined him made the entire thing worth while, though. She just hoped Lizzie could remember how to do it in the morning, though she supposed Grace probably wouldn't mind being practiced on. The little girl wasn't truly an employee of the house; she mostly kept Belle company for lack of anything else to do while her father was otherwise occupied. It was a good arrangement for everyone, because Lizzie needed the help with sewing and Grace got to spend more time with her father than she had in the past. Besides, Belle liked having the little girl around as a companion.

"How was your day?" Rhys asked her over soup.

He was looking at her quizzically, like he'd figured out there was something different about her but wasn't sure what it was or if he should say anything. It was almost adorable, and part of her wanted to help him, but she couldn't quite figure out how to draw more attention to her head than he was already paying it. Maybe she'd just give him a little test.

"It was good," she replied. "One of the neighbor girls came over to help Lizzie learn some new things with hair."

She saw his eyes get wider for a split second, he had clearly had no idea what she'd done different.

"I like it," he said too fast to have really thought about it before seeming to gather himself a bit. "It suits you very well. She did a lovely job."

"I'll be sure to tell her you like it," Belle replied. "But to be honest, one of the neighbors came and did this."

"Oh," he said simply, looking at her appraisingly again. "Well, then send her my compliments as well."

She smiled at him as flirtatiously as she knew how, and they returned to their meals. He did seem to like the new hair style, and frankly she loved just how _different_ it made her look than the person she had been when her hair had been curled and pinned into styles that showed she could afford a maid to do everything for her and had no need to do anything but be ornamental. Hairstyles that had been curled tight and pinned in piles at the top of her head and that had taken hours daily to achieve. This was the first thing she had really chosen for herself with no input from friends and helpful matrons who took pity on the poor motherless girl only to lament her poor upbringing at the hands of a single father the moment she'd been ruined.

"Neal wrote a letter," Rhys said after a few minutes. "He'd like to come visit for a bit."

"Oh good," she said. "When is he coming?"

"I haven't responded yet," he replied. "I thought I'd ask you about it first."

"We don't have any plans," she said, shrugging a little. "At least, that I know of."

He looked a little shamefaced, and she knew what he'd meant. The last time Neal had visited had been their wedding, and she'd spent the following two days in her bedroom. She was better now, though, wasn't she? Ever since then, she'd been able to at least make it to the library every day no matter how awful she felt, and once she got Rose she'd made a point of taking the dog out first thing in the morning and last thing at night all by herself no matter what happened. She was sharing a bed with her husband (in the literal sense, anyway), and they'd kissed a few times. There was no reason to think that she couldn't handle Neal being around anymore. She was doing okay.

"Tell him to visit," she continued. "I'd like to see him again."

"I will," he replied. "I'll write him after dinner to let him know it's all right."

"Good," she said, bracing herself up. "Very good."

She wasn't quite sure why her mind was suddenly on edge and active. She was better. She was getting better. She recited the words like a mantra to herself throughout dinner, making pleasant conversation throughout. Because she was better. She was better and they were closer.

After dinner, Rhys excused himself back to the study to write to Neal and Belle set herself to pacing in her library with Rose. The puppy always thought this was a little bit of a game and would prance back and forth in front of Belle and nip at her skirts a little, which sometimes helped break her out of her mood when it was particularly bad.

Rhys had been so sweet to take her feelings into consideration, and she knew she shouldn't be upset about it. It was a legitimate concern that she might have an issue with Neal being around unexpectedly, and the fact that both of them had apparently seen fit to make arrangements so that she could be comfortable was so wonderful of them. But she was keeping him away from his son, because he didn't necessarily trust her to be able to be around Neal.

But she was so much _better_ now. She finally caved to Rose's bouncing enthusiasm and sat down in one of the armchairs, picking up a little rag ball that she'd made for the puppy and tossing it to be retrieved. They played the little game for a few more minutes before the dog finally came and hopped up on the seat with her. Rose loved her, at least. Rose hadn't ever been disappointed by her. Rose was so, so simple and everyone else was so very difficult.

By the time Rhys finally came to her room that night, Belle had long since made her plan. She was tired of being fragile and of being treated with kid gloves and she was going to take matters into her own hands to sort it out. Her resolve was only strengthened when she saw his shy smile. This was the right thing to do and more than that, it was what she wanted to do.

It wasn't frightening to be in bed with him anymore, which was a sign she was doing the right thing. She knew he enjoyed the touches of her hand in his, he had held her while she spilled her deepest secrets, and she hoped that he'd accept more now.

They had climbed into her bed again, and she curled herself into his side as she had done the night before. He seemed a little startled at first, but quickly relaxed and put his arms around her again. He was warm and felt comfortable and safe, and she strained up a bit to press a kiss to his lips. He froze, but didn't pull away as she kissed him so she kissed him harder, hoping he'd take her hint. He didn't seem to, so she put her hand on his chest and tried touching him seductively but she didn't truly know how to do that. Ladies weren't supposed to know how to seduce a man, and no matter what else Belle had become, she had been raised a lady. She didn't know what to do.

"Belle?" he whispered her name curiously, pulling away just a little.

"Yes?" she replied, following him as he recoiled.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

In response, she slid her hand down his body towards his groin. She'd never touched a man there before, and she hadn't quite known what to expect. What she had _not _expected was him to pull back completely at that point.

"You don't have to do that," he said hoarsely. "Really, I don't expect anything like that. At all."

"I want to," she replied as earnestly as she could. "I really do. Please?"

"You don't know what you're asking for," he said.

"I do," she said, trying very hard to make him want her. "I promise you, I do. Please."

He whimpered, and she took the opportunity to press into him again. He seemed to accept her reasoning, at last. He kissed her back, sliding his tongue along her lips in a way she'd never known to try. That was nice, and it sent a strangely pleasant warmth through her. She liked that part - liked the way she felt when he did that. She was okay. She could do this. He kissed her for a long time, and she was actually pretty proud of how well she was doing. She took his hand in her and squeezed it, letting him know she was still okay. His lips trailed down her neck a little bit, and she did like that. It was soft and comforting, but he was always comforting. She was safe, he was here. It was okay.

After he kissed her for a little longer, she was fairly sure he was ready to start. Summoning all her bravery, she leaned herself backwards and he followed her until he was leaning over her. Almost immediately once he was over her, she felt panic begin to rise in her chest and she forced it down. It was okay. She had wanted this. He touched the side of her face so gently, though, and she didn't know why but all of a sudden she couldn't breathe. It felt like someone was sitting on her chest even though Rhys wasn't resting any of his weight on her and she couldn't focus on anything even when she tried.

Belle tried to fight down the panic, but it crashed over her in a wave. She started hyperventilating and her vision began to narrow as she struggled to remain calm. To his credit, Rhys recognized her distress almost instantly and was off her before she could find her voice to tell him to stop (if she even would have been able to, because suddenly her throat seemed to close). She sat up and threw off the blankets, taking deep gasping breaths until the moment passed enough for her to breathe again. It took her a long time before she felt like she was alive again and even when the spell passed she almost wished it had lasted longer because she was left curled up in a ball on the bed with a husband who was looking at her as though she'd grown a second head and the knowledge that she'd just made a complete fool of herself.

Rhys was terrified to even touch her. He shouldn't have gone along with what she'd asked in the first place. He knew better, dammit. He _knew_ what she'd been through and he went along with it anyway and _oh God_ she was going to hate him for it. Belle was currently sitting with her head on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs and shaking violently. She seemed to be breathing better now, but she hadn't looked at him since the attack started. He'd made a terrible mistake, and he had no idea how to go about fixing it.

"Are you all right?" he said after a long moment, still not daring to touch her. "Do you need anything?"

She shook her head _no_ and he wasn't sure if she didn't need anything or if something was seriously wrong, but thankfully she spoke.

"I'm fine," she said in a voice that was anything but fine. "I just need to be alone for a little while."

"Right," he replied, hoping he didn't sound too hurt. "I'll just…go, then."

"Okay," she said, nodding a little bit and still not looking up at him.

He hated to leave her like that, but if she wanted to be alone it was really the best he could do for her. He wouldn't force her into his company, and he certainly wouldn't force anything else on her. He got out of the bed as quietly as he could and put on his dressing gown. The only other thing he did before leaving her bedchamber was to fetch the puppy off her pillow and deposit her in the bed next to Belle. Rose immediately went to her mistress, curling up next to her and putting her head in Belle's lap. He saw Belle take one of her hands off her knees and absently scratch the back of the dog's neck. That was good. Belle would be okay. He just had to leave her alone.

It was a long walk back to his bedchamber alone, and by the time he got there he wasn't tired. He was exhausted, but there was no way he was going to sleep - his nerves were completely on edge and he could hardly decide what he he was doing anymore. He had brought Belle into his home in the hopes of saving her from a husband who would make demands and treat her poorly, and in his effort to protect her he had ended up hurting her anyway. He was a terrible man, and a terrible husband.

Rhys didn't sleep that night, and he didn't see Belle the next morning. He was fairly certain she was trying to avoid him, and he didn't blame her after what he'd done. If experience was any indicator, she would probably spend the rest of the day (at least) locked in her room unless the dog needed to go outside. It was possible that she would just send Grace or Elizabeth outside with the puppy, but just in case he would lock himself in his study so she could wander without fear of seeing him.

He managed to keep this up until supper time, when it was far too late to continue to pretend like nothing was wrong. Either he had to face her, or he had to let everyone know something strange was going on between the master and mistress of the house. The latter option was only marginally more preferable, but he wasn't really looking forward to either. Belle would need space, and he would give it to her. That, of course, left him with the unfortunate task of telling Jefferson that he wouldn't be going to dinner.

"What do you mean you're eating in your room?" the younger man exclaimed, holding a dinner jacket out. "You've never eaten upstairs since I've known you."

"There's a first time for everything," Rhys grumbled, settling further down in his chair out of spite. "I don't feel up to it tonight."

"And what am I supposed to tell your wife?" Jefferson replied sharply.

It was a low blow and they both knew it.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Rhys snapped. "It's what I pay you for."

Jefferson levelled a glare at his employer that said he wasn't happy at all with what he was being told to do, but Rhys couldn't care right now. He would spare her seeing him and pretending to be happy after what he'd done. He owed her at least that much. He had promised to be a good husband to her, he had failed in it, and he wasn't even sure how to come back from that.

The news that her husband wouldn't be joining her for dinner was a bitter disappointment, but not entirely unexpected. She wouldn't have really wanted to face her after what had happened either. She should have known better than to push too hard. He'd gone along with her, and she'd taken advantage of his indulgence of her. She ended up taking dinner upstairs as well, unable to face an empty table across from her.

She'd failed again. She'd warned him that she didn't think she could ever be a wife, but she'd hoped against hope that she could do it someday. She'd been so much better the last few weeks, and now she'd tried and she'd failed. If she was ever going to have been able to make it work, it should have been then. It wasn't just the fact that she hadn't been able to let him go through with it that bothered her. She'd proven she wasn't prepared to be a wife, but also it meant she was never going to be a mother.

Belle had never really put much thought into children. It had been taken for granted that she and Gaston would have heirs and she had accepted that. Women of her social class were bred to be mothers and it had been expected of her from the time she was born. But if she couldn't let Rhys touch her then she wasn't going to have any children, and it was just another part of her identity that had been stripped from her by that awful half-hour almost a year ago. She had been meant to be a Lady, she'd been meant to be Gaston's wife, and she'd been meant to be a mother. Now she would be none of those things and she hadn't really been prepared for the emptiness she felt at that revelation.

She wasn't even sure if Rhys wanted more children - he'd implied he hadn't been interested in them before they got married but in her experience men _always_ wanted children, so maybe he just didn't want children with her? It made sense in a strange way. He seemed fond enough of her, but she'd practically had to beg him to touch her and now he had pulled away again. None of it made any sense, really. She wished for the millionth time she'd had a mother or at least some other woman in her life who would have been able to look out for Belle's best interest, a grandmother or an aunt, perhaps. But no, everyone who might have cared about her had always been a man and she had no idea how to be a wife even under the best of circumstances, which were most certainly not the circumstances she now found herself in.

Maybe it was for the best that she'd never be a mother. She'd never had a mother, so how could she possibly be one now? She was sad, and she was broken, and she'd been ruined. It was for the best that there would be no children to suffer under her failures and her reputation.

Rhys didn't come to her bed that night, though she honestly hadn't expected him to. So she braided her hair and put on her plainest nightgown and failed utterly to get any sleep. She lay awake, tossing and turning and wondering when she'd become so dependent on him that now it felt strange to be by herself in bed. She should get up and do some embroidery, but she was so sick of embroidery it was killing her. Ever since Rhys had begun sleeping in her bed, there had at least been a goal to the embroidery - to add ribbons and flowers and silly little things to her nightclothes, to make them prettier because he was seeing them. Now, though, it seemed like a hopeless goal. Nobody but her was going to see any of them ever again.

Finally, she gave up and left her bed in order to go to the library to get her book. She'd been working her way through the box Indian texts Rhys had purchased for her at the bookshop, and she had chosen one that turned out to be a book of myths, only to leave it sitting on an end table. Rose had gotten used to sleeping through the night while Belle had been sharing her bed with her husband (another little reminder of how poorly done this had all been) and barely stirred when Belle crept past her on the way from her room. At least the puppy's routine was allowed to remain intact.

The library was dark, but it was hers. At least this one fear had been conquered, even if none of the others had been. If nothing else, Belle had books to keep her company when she had neither husband nor children, and the books would never leave her, cloistered as she was among them. She finished her book at dawn's first light and grabbed the next one to hide in her bedroom with. There was no way she was prepared to face anyone now, and she was especially afraid of letting anyone know how badly she was doing and how far she'd fallen in a day.


	19. Fly Around in Circles

Whether she was looking for a husband or not, Gaston couldn't help but notice that Ruby Lucas certainly attended enough parties to have found one a dozen times over by now. Which, granted, he'd only noticed because he was also at all those parties and hadn't found a bride yet, but still. He couldn't help it if there was something wrong with every single woman in New York. Well, that wasn't fair. He hadn't met _every_ woman in New York, and it was quite possible that one of them would be suitable, but he'd found something wrong with every single one of them so far. He was beginning to become discouraged with this entire endeavor, but he couldn't back out now; he'd come way too far to be able to return home without a wife.

Fortunately, he'd been invited to a house party. As a rule, he didn't enjoy house parties - not since what had happened to Belle. However, he was so damn sick of the city he could scream, and this had been his first chance in weeks to be out in the country with grass and air and space to breathe. He'd accepted the invitation in the hopes that some time in the country would let him clear his head before he went back and made his final decision. If he could just take an hour to himself, he was fairly sure he could make a choice of potential wife and pursue her. He just...he needed a little time.

Part of it, he was sure, is that he'd never properly courted a woman before. He'd never even _tried_ to court a woman before. He'd proposed to Belle when she was seventeen because her father had hinted broadly that it was past time to get things put together. They were supposed to have married when she was eighteen, but had put thing off after his father died and really just hadn't gotten around to it by the time the engagement was broken. Maybe he should have just gone ahead and married her rather than taking so much time, but he hadn't really been in any particular hurry. He hadn't done anything with his life yet, and he felt like he should at least visit the continent or have one youthful misadventure before he married, and he hadn't had the opportunity for that.

He was pondering his situation and wandering the gardens of the house when he stumbled on Ruby Lucas. He hadn't known she was invited to this particular party, and hadn't even spoken to her at all since the day she'd cornered him at the ball. The fact that he'd noticed she was at most of the parties he'd attended (and, more to the point, that he'd specifically noticed the ones she _wasn't_ at) was entirely irrelevant and he wouldn't dwell on it.

"Miss Lucas," he called out when he was still at a little distance from her, a habit he'd picked up from being around Belle.

"Mr. Heir-to-a-viscount," she replied with a smirk. "It's lovely to see you again."

"Likewise," he replied, coming to sit on the bench facing hers. "What brings you out here?"

"It's such a lovely day," she said. "I couldn't stand to be indoors. And you?"

"Similar," he said. "I take it you're acquainted with Miss Grey?"

"I am," she replied evenly. "She's my fiance's cousin."

Of all the things she could have possibly said, that was the one he had least expected to hear.

"Fiance?" he blurted out. "I hadn't heard the happy news. I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Hardly," she said, turning away from him for a brief moment. "He died a little over a year ago."

Oh. Suddenly it all made sense.

"My condolences," he replied. "I hadn't meant to dredge up a painful memory."

"It's fine," she said too fast, turning her head and swiping away tears he was pretending not to notice. "My mourning period is over, after all."

"It was a love match," he said, and she nodded slowly. "If you don't mind me asking, what was his name?"

"Peter," she said. "Peter Wolfe. He was in Louisiana to check on his father's shipping interests and caught yellow fever…"

She didn't quite finish her thought, but she didn't need to. He'd been warned to stay out of the American south for that exact reason. It wasn't a quick death, nor was it an easy one. He couldn't imagine seeing someone he loved lingering so and in such pain, but then again he _had_ watched Belle struggling to survive after what had happened to her. He could empathize with the helplessness Ruby had felt, and her inability to do anything to save him. There had been an instant attraction to Ruby Lucas the day he'd first met her, but he hadn't understood it and had chalked it up to something purely physical. Now he was beginning to suspect that it was more than that. Perhaps he had recognized in her someone who he _could_ help in a way he'd not been able to help trick, of course, was going to be convincing _her_ of that fact.

Somehow, after everything that had happened with Belle, it had slipped Rhys' mind that Neal would be visiting until his son was walking into the study, having arrived twenty minutes previously. They barely had time to exchange pleasantries, though, before Belle was at the door with a brilliant smile on her face.

"Neal," she said pleasantly. "I thought I might find you here. I just heard you'd arrived."

Neal looked a little confused at the change Belle had undergone since he'd last visited, and to be honest Rhys was a little startled at the difference in her even from the previous week. She'd been avoiding him, and now she had a smile on her face and her hair up in the new style she'd had the other day. It hit him all at once how much he'd missed her. She took his breath away, and he had _missed_ her so damn much.

"Yeah," Neal said, and Rhys cringed at his son's lapse in manners. The boy had been raised better than that. "I just got in from the city a few minutes ago."

Belle held her hand out and Neal - thankfully - remembered to kiss it politely.

She was bubbly and cheerful as she chatted politely with Neal about his trip and how the city had been. Neal, for his part, actually seemed fairly interested in what Belle had to say. Rhys should probably be a little jealous that the two people he loved most in the world were ignoring him, but he was honestly just relieved that Belle was downstairs and that she and Neal were getting along so well. He'd been a little nervous that she would panic again, but here she was putting her best effort into his son.

The two only talked for a few minutes before Belle made her excuses and left them again, promising to check to make sure Neal's bags had been put in the correct room (though of course they had, because there weren't that many rooms) and to talk to the cook about making something special for dinner.

"So she's doing better," Neal said as soon as Belle had left. "A lot better."

"I suppose she is," Rhys replied. "Though the last time you saw her was a bit stressful for her."

"It was," Neal agreed. "But I'll admit, I was a little worried about you - both of you. It was...there were stories. You've been in the gossip papers again."

"I'm sure we were," Rhys replied. "And I'm sure it was nothing but well-wishers."

He suddenly felt extremely tired. He'd known this was a possibility, but to have it actually happen was exhausting. How had Belle lived like this so long, anyway?

"You know what it was," Neal said. "You'll be pleased to know that you're being taken advantage of by a scheming harlot, by the way."

Rhys felt his temper increasing instantly at the implication about Belle.

"Am I?" he snapped. "Yes, clearly my wife is conniving her way to...what, exactly? A lower social rank? A tiny house?"

"I didn't say I believed it," Neal said defensively. "I said that's what the papers say. I _like_ Belle. I've liked her since I met her. She keeps you busy, anyway. "

"I know," Rhys replied. "I just hate what she's been through - what she's still going through. It's not easy for her."

"Yeah, then keep her away from London for a while," Neal said. "Also the papers, if she still reads them."

"She doesn't," Rhys said. "You know I'm the one who pursued her, don't you?"

"I figured as much," Neal replied. "Though perhaps I should sell that story to the tabloids. Instead of a brazen harlot and a naive older man we can have a few issues about the opportunistic commoner who married his way into a connection with a title."

That did get a chuckle out of Rhys strangely. He could just see the ink that would have been wasted on that narrative had they married in any other circumstance.

"Is that what brought you out to visit, then?"

"No," Neal said. "Well, a little. I did want to check on you, but there's some new developments with the investors that I wanted your opinion on and some other little things. Do I need an excuse to come visit?"

"Never," Rhys promised. "You can come any time you like, you know that."

"It's not quite the same right now," Neal replied. "I mean, I'll come. I don't think it's a good idea if I drop in with no notice, though. Do you?"

"Probably not," Rhys agreed. "But she's not usually like she was at the wedding. You'll see."

"I hope so," Neal said. "For your sake, if nothing else."

Right. For his sake. Rhys wasn't even sure what he wanted out of all of this. He wanted Belle to not hurt anymore, but how was he even to achieve that? She was still struggling, and he didn't know that she'd ever not struggle. He'd seen what that sort of violation could do to a woman, and he had seen how it could end. His only goal in all of this had been to protect Belle the way he'd never been able to protect anyone before, but he was completely lost as to what to actually do for her. So far, he'd done nothing but fail miserably.

Belle was going to do better this time. She was going to prove to Neal that she wasn't a liability, and prove to Rhys that she'd been a good choice of wife. Maybe she had made a mistake, but she could overcome it. She had to work through it, because there were no other options. Divorce was as scandalous as could be, and she didn't want to be the subject of gossip and scorn again. She'd had quite enough of that lately. Her goals in life had become to live quietly in the country and never have anyone notice her ever again. She could be completely content with that life; she craved it. She craved the anonymity she'd enjoyed before, and she would do whatever it took to get back to it.

There wasn't really any need to check with the cook about dinner, but Belle had done it anyway. The woman had performed her duty admirably since before Belle had married into the house and had continued to do so ever since. Belle largely left her alone to do her job, and they'd reached what she thought was a fairly good working relationship. She approved nearly anything the cook wanted, and had yet to be disappointed with the outcome. Still, though, it was expected she'd arrange a menu for her husband's son and she was determined to do everything the right way this time. Speaking with the cook was more of a formality, but she was at least able to ensure that Neal's favorite dessert (or at least, the one the cook assured her was his favorite) would be served that evening.

Once that self-made errand was completed, she double checked with the maids that his room had been properly prepared. There really wasn't much for her to do, in the end, and she wound up sitting quietly in the library teaching Grace embroidery while everyone else worked. It was something constructive, at least. The little girl was a steady hand with a needle already thanks to her experience with sewing and mending, but the grandmother who she'd been living with hadn't quite taught her the delicate embroideries that Belle had been instructed in.

For Belle, needlework had been a hobby that she had needed to develop for purely impractical purposes, one that she hadn't truly appreciated until she'd been hurt and reading had become too difficult to manage. For Grace, though, this could be a life skill. Delicate needlework could lead her to a career in service if she chose, or one as a seamstress - or it could let her keep her children well dressed. It didn't matter if the embroidery felt a little useless to Belle sometimes, teaching it to Grace felt helpful. Like she had some worth as a person, even if it was just helping this girl secure her future.

A knock on the door brought Belle's attention away from Grace and the fabric the two of them were looking over. Neal stood there, waiting patiently in the hall for her to acknowledge him. She smiled, setting her embroidery down instantly to welcome him into her library.

"Grace," she said, after introducing the girl to Neal. "Can you take Rose outside for me?"

The little girl nodded, setting her fabric down as well and scooping up the puppy who had been curled around Belle's ankles.

"Is that Jefferson's daughter?" Neal asked after Grace had left.

"It is," Belle replied. "She's staying as my companion."

"That's good," Neal said, taking a seat. "I like your new library. Very cozy."

"Thank you," she said. "It was a gift from your father."

"Was it?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. "That's odd."

"Why is it odd?" she replied, bristling a little.

"No, no," Neal said quickly, looking entirely too much like his father as he panicked. "I didn't mean...he's just never been a gift person is all. Not for lack of trying, but it's never been something he was good at."

"Oh," she said, deflating a little. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "I misspoke, and it wasn't my place anyway."

"In that case, apology accepted," she said. "Did you want something, though?"

"I just wanted to check on you," he replied. "I'll confess I was a bit worried about how you were adjusting."

"That's very kind," she said. "But you don't need to worry about me. Everyone has been very kind."

"It was more concern for my father," he said. "He surprised me a bit with the proposal, and I wasn't quite sure what he was thinking when he went through with it. I suppose I owe you an apology for that, as well."

"I'd have been concerned as well," she admitted. "With my reputation and all."

There was no keeping the brittleness out of her voice, even though she understood everything he was saying. Had her own father married a woman like her, Belle would have hit the roof. As publicly as Belle had fallen, he'd been absolutely right to be concerned about her and surely her behavior last time hadn't helped his estimation of her any.

"The point is," Neal broke into her thoughts], "I was wrong, and I wanted to apologize for it."

"Thank you," she said. "I mean it, I do appreciate the thought."

Neal smiled in something that looked close to relief, and she was glad he'd told her. It had hurt to hear that her fears had been correct and he had feared the worst, but the fact that he'd said it meant that he didn't think it anymore. So if nothing else, he'd decided to trust her.

Just at that moment, Grace burst back into the room with tears streaming down her face and threw herself into Belle..

"I lost Rosie," the little girl sobbed before Belle could even ask what was wrong. "I'm so sorry. She saw a rabbit and ran and I tried to catch her but I couldn't and I don't know where she is, I'm so sorry Belle."

It took a moment for Belle to work out exactly what the little girl was telling her - that her constant companion and the closest thing Belle was likely to have had run away - but Neal caught on much faster, jumping to his feet.

"I'm sure she didn't get far," he said quickly. "Can you show me where she went?"

Grace nodded, climbing to her feet and letting him lead her from the room. Belle got up and trailed after as they hurried outside. Lizzie was already out there, calling for the puppy and scanning the horizon. Grace gestured towards a bank of trees as the place where the dog had gone off to, and Neal wasted no time in taking off towards them in search of her with Lizzie in tow. Grace, however, returned to Belle's side and began sobbing out an apology again.

"Oh sweetheart," Belle replied, reaching out to stroke the little girl's hair. "It's truly all right. I know you didn't lose her on purpose and Neal will find her."

Belle knew that Grace loved Rose almost as much as she did, and that made it a lot easier to set the strange overwhelmed buzzing in her head aside to comfort the girl.

"But it's all my fault," Grace said through a sniffle and tears. "I let her get away."

"It could have happened to anyone," Belle replied, bending down to dab Grace's face with her handkerchief. "She's always trying to run away. She'll turn up."

Grace nodded, collapsing into Belle for a hug before pulling away and going off towards the woods herself.. Belle watched her long enough to see the little girl staying outside the bank of trees, instead hovering at the edge calling the dog's name out.

"That was good of you," Rhys said from off to Belle's side. She hadn't heard him come up, but hadn't been too startled for once at his appearance.

"She didn't do anything wrong," Belle replied. "Rosie needs a leash, or some training. Or both."

"Probably," he replied. "She went into the woods?"

"Apparently," Belle said. "According to Grace, anyway. There was a rabbit and she ran."

The idea of her dog being lost was awful. She loved Rose as much as she'd loved anything, and besides her affection for the puppy itself, it was also the first gift her husband had ever given her and a symbol of all her hopes for her marriage. Losing Rose (especially so soon after everything else) would mean that she'd lost all hope and she couldn't quite face that yet.

"There aren't any wild animals in the woods besides deer," Rhys broke into her worried thoughts. "She'll be out soon enough."

Belle nodded, willing herself to believe him. There was no reason to think Rose wouldn't come back any minute now. She just had to wait and hope. Rhys didn't leave her side, although she couldn't think of what to say to him - she appreciated that he was there for her and that he was a source of comfort even though neither one spoke as they watched the search party in the woods. Grace had taken up Lizzie's spot at the tree line while Lizzie had followed Neal into the woods.

"I need to go help look," Belle said finally. "She doesn't know Neal, and she only sometimes comes when you call her."

She expected to have to defend her choice. There was no way her father would have allowed her to go wandering through the woods regardless of what she had planned to do in them.

"I'll come with you," he said. "You shouldn't go in by yourself."

She glanced at his cane, and he seemed to unconsciously move it out of her line of sight. She wouldn't question him about it. If he believed she could go hunting through the woods for her puppy in a petticoat and a corset, she would believe he could do the same with his cane.

"Thank you," she said, reaching out and taking his hand in hers before she could second-guess her choice.

He looked at where her hand held his with a slightly stunned look on his face before glancing back to her and nodding a little.

"Come," he said, moving towards the trees without pulling his hand from hers - and she chose not to let his go, either. She'd been starving for touch since her aborted attempt at marital intimacy, and even this touch of his hand was a little like a light in the darkness. She felt more whole now, and she wasn't sure if it was him or just what he represented and the life she had been so close to reclaiming.

Either way, he led her towards the woods and they were preparing to enter together, when Neal's voice rang out followed by a shout from Lizzie. The two of them spilled out of the woods not long later, Neal holding a little bundle of fur that might once have been recognizable as Belle's pampered pet were it not for the burrs and mud on her coat.

"We found her!" Lizzie called out cheerfully, wiping her hair back from where it had fallen from her pins. The maid looked the happiest Belle had ever seen her.

"She was having a grand time," Neal said, holding the puppy out towards Belle who took her gladly despite the horrible smell. "She found a dead frog to roll around in."

Belle paused for a minute, glancing down to the dog who was currently wagging her tail so hard and trying to lick Belle's face in excitement at their reunion that Belle couldn't stay angry with her. Anyway, Neal had been cradling the dog in his coat for God only knows how long and he seemed fine.

"Well," Belle said cheerfully, curling her arm under the dog to keep her steady and secure in her arms.. "I guess that means everyone gets to have a bath today. Grace, can you please ask your father to get a bath ready for Neal?"

Grace nodded and ran off ahead.

"Lizzie, can you help me get a wash bucket for the dog?" she asked her maid who was looking a little ragged around the edges, but at least seemed to have avoided picking up the smell from Rose. "You can take a bath yourself after that. I'll get cleaned up once Rose is taken care of."

"Of course," Lizzie replied, before wrinkling her nose. "That dog stinks so bad."

"She does," Neal agreed jovially. "But she's safe and sound and that's the important part, isn't it precious?"

The last part was directed at the puppy, who took up her tail wagging again and started squirming. Neal glanced at his father - who had been planted firmly at Belle's side for the entire exchange - before heading back towards the house with Lizzie not far behind.

Belle curled the dog in her arms like a baby, just happy to have her back even if she was disgusting. She felt a slight pressure on her back, and realized that Rhys had put his hand on her spine and was guiding her towards the house.

"I'm glad she's home," he said quickly. "Although she does stink."

"She really, really does," Belle replied with a giggle. "I barely want to touch her but I can't bring myself to put her down."

"Maybe next time I'll get you a cat," he teased gently. "Something self-sufficient."

"Oh, don't say that," she mock scolded him. "She can hear you! She's been a wonderful companion and I love her so much."

He seemed to stumble a little bit but he caught himself so quickly she might have imagined it.

"Good," he replied. "That's very good."

She wanted to apologize to him for what had happened between them the other day, but her courage deserted her once they were at the door to the house.

"Will I see you at dinner?" she asked him instead.

"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't miss it."

Belle loved the dog. Rhys didn't know why _that_ of all things had set his head spinning, but she loved the dog. That was a good thing. She loved something. She loved something _he had given her_. He wasn't sure yet _why _that was so important, but he could feel in his bones that it was. She could love the dog, so she could love other things.

Poor Grace had been the only other person to come back from the woods untouched by the dog's smell, and the rest of the staff had to be employed in helping the three others get cleaned up, so it probably shouldn't have been much of a surprise to find the little girl perched in front of a fire in one of the drawing rooms with the wet dog, a towel, and a brush. He cleared his throat to get her attention and she jumped a bit and spun around to see who was there before relaxing.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "Lady Belle asked me to dry the dog so she could get a bath. I can go someplace else."

"No, no," he said hurriedly. "I interrupted you, not the other way around. I was merely looking for something to do and everyone else is busy. Do you mind if I join you?"

Grace shook her head before dropping back down onto the hearth with the puppy and the brush. Rose seemed to have exhausted herself in her adventure and was settled quite comfortably on the blanket while Grace brushed out her coat.

"Are you enjoying your stay here?" he asked, and Grace looked up before nodding.

"I really like getting to see my papa more," she replied. "It's been a long time since we were able to live together."

"That's good," he said. "Very good. And do you like Lady Belle?"

His wife tended not to use her title since their marriage, preferring instead to be called Mrs. Gold, but with Grace 'Lady Belle' had been a compromise between the girl not feeling comfortable calling her by her first name without some sort of honorific in front of it.

"I do," Grace said. "She's very kind. And very pretty."

Grace looked over to him as though she wanted some confirmation this had been the right thing to say, but he was beyond giving her any guidance on that front, consumed as he was with wanting any information he could get about his wife.

"She is," he said at last. "What do you two do all day?"

"I've been teaching Lizzie to sew," Grace said. "Papa says she has to learn, and I'm _very_ good at it. Granny used to take in laundry when I was staying with her, and I'd help her with the mending."

"That's very good," Rhys replied. "I'm sure you're an excellent seamstress. What else do you do?"

Grace thought for a moment before answering.

"Lady Belle is teaching me to embroider," she said, setting her brush down next to the now sleeping puppy. "And she likes to read sometimes."

"Does she?" he asked. He'd known that, but hadn't seen any evidence of her doing much of it, although Grace did spend much more time with Belle than he did. "She reads a lot with you, then?"

"Not with me," Grace said. "But there's always a different book in her sewing basket. I think she reads them at night after I'm in bed."

"Oh," Rhys replied, feeling like he'd been slapped. She wasn't sleeping, she was reading all night instead. "And what do you two talk about? Her books?"

"Lots of things," Grace said. "Books sometimes, but also we talk about Rose and London - I've never been, you know - and dresses. Sometimes we talk about Lizzie's day because she's the only one of us who ever leaves the house."

"Do you want to go out?" he asked. He could at least give Jefferson the idea that perhaps Grace might like a trip to town on his next free afternoon.

"I do," Grace said. "But I think Lady Belle does, too. We talk about it a lot. She said someday she'd take me to the sweet shop in town and we can get a collar and a leash for Rose."

"You know," he said. "That's not a bad idea. Do you know where the town is?"

Grace nodded. It really wasn't too far away, after all.

"Go find your father and tell him I said to give you and Lizzie a few pence and that you could go into town and buy the dog a collar and leash. Afterward you can go buy some candy."

"Really?" Grace said, jumping up. "You mean it?"

"Of course," Rhys said.

The little girl squealed loudly enough that the puppy stirred before settling back down.

"Thank you!" Grace exclaimed, kissing his cheek affectionately before dashing out to find her father for her promised trip out.

It was really nothing at all for him to send her with a little money, and after this little misadventure Rose was officially in need of a leash. As for Belle, if she wanted to go out he would take her and Neal out someplace much more interesting than the tiny little town where she'd have to listen to village matrons who wanted to cluck over her scandals as though she wasn't right there.

Rhys couldn't shake the feeling that he was in over his head with Belle, but he couldn't stop himself now. If spoiling a little girl and a puppy made her feel better then that's what he would do.


	20. As Long As Lips Shall Kiss

"Did you send my daughter to town?" Jefferson asked before Rhys even had a chance to take his shoes off.

"The dog needed a leash," Rhys replied as indignantly as possible, glancing to where the other man stood brushing out a coat. "Don't tell me you're going to be upset about it."

"I'm not," Jefferson replied wryly. "I gave her the money either way. I was just wondering why you sent Grace specifically."

"My wife thought she'd enjoy the trip," Rhys said. "Was she wrong?"

"No, not at all," Jefferson had a wide grin on his face now. "I'm sure Grace is having a wonderful time."

"So then what's the problem?"

Jefferson was entirely too cheerful all of a sudden, and Rhys was trying hard to maintain a scowl that would keep the other man from asking too many questions.

"Nothing," Jefferson finally replied, humming obnoxiously.

"By the way," Rhys said. "Can you think of a good location for a picnic nearby?"

"Did you have something special planned?" Jefferson asked. "A romantic lunch with the missus, perhaps?"

Rhys shot him a glare, but Jefferson just continued with his smug little grin and went about his work.

"I thought my wife _and son_ might appreciate an outing," Rhys replied. "To get to know each other better."

"There's always the old fort," Jefferson said with a shrug. "It's supposed to be nice. But you do know that _your wife_ has lived here her entire life. You could ask her."

It was an excellent point, and one that Rhys would have had an easier time taking if he had any idea at all how to approach his wife to ask her. He'd been reduced to using an eleven-year-old girl to get information on how Belle was doing, he wasn't at all sure he'd be able to ask Belle anything for a little while. She'd held his hand again. It was the first touch they'd had ever since that disastrous night, and it was the first time she'd touched him for any prolonged period during the day. She'd left him with a lot to think about, whether she'd known it or not.

"Don't you have any work to do?" Rhys finally snapped, to which Jefferson simply bowed (still with that damn smirk on his face) and retreated from the room carrying a shirt that was in need of a new button.

At least somebody would be useful today, even if the valet was going to be a thorn in his side while he did it. Rhys was simply too relieved to be left alone for the moment. He was having entirely too many thoughts in his head, and he needed a few moments to think them over. Perhaps he should ask Belle about the picnic. He knew she hated surprises, and she might enjoy planning it with him. He was just in over his head, really.

Rhys spent the next twenty minutes looking for something to keep him busy in his private rooms before finally giving up and going to his study. He hadn't really wanted to deal with making conversation with anyone he couldn't fire (not that he was going to fire Jefferson, but the possibility existed); he just honestly couldn't justify staying locked away in his room with his thoughts when there was work to be done downstairs in the study. He was already in a questionable mood when he reached his destination, and the presence of his son did little to remedy it once he arrived.

"You didn't tell me you cared about her," Neal called out from his seat on one of the sofas. "I knew you liked her, but you really care, don't you?"

"I don't have time to talk about this, Neal," Rhys replied, going to his desk and praying there was something he would need to look at. "I have to reply to this letter."

He frantically flipped through the day's correspondence and sent up a silent thank you to whatever force had landed a letter from his solicitor on his desk that day.

"Don't change the subject," Neal shot back. "You were holding her hand."

"And you were looking for her dog," Rhys said. "She was upset."

"You can admit to loving your wife," Neal said. "I don't even know what you're worried about. She's nice."

Rhys was torn between wanting to instantly deny the accusation and wishing the floor would open up so he could fall through it and escape this conversation. His relationship with Belle was complicated, and he wasn't even sure where they stood anymore. He knew she wasn't sleeping well and that she said she'd slept better with him there, but that didn't really _mean_ anything. She'd held his hand when she'd been scared, and she'd lingered to talk to him once the puppy had been found. Things between them had never _not _been complicated, but this was entirely uncharted territory.

"It doesn't matter if she's nice," Rhys finally said, feeling himself deflate. "It's not about my feelings at all."

Neal seemed a little taken aback by that, as though it had never occurred to him that there might be more going on than he was aware of.

"She needs time," Rhys finally said, studying the envelope in his hands intensely. "I'm not going to push her."

"I didn't say to push her," Neal replied. "But you should at least let her know you love her."

_Did _he love Belle? He hadn't really thought about it - he had intentionally not thought about it, actually. He certainly enjoyed spending time with her, and he liked her company. She was clever and witty, sweet and gentle. It would be easy to let himself love her, and if he did that he was afraid of what came next. Love was a dangerous game to play between them. Belle needed time and patience, and any feelings he developed would just get in the way.

"It's not that simple," he finally said, turning toward his son. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it," Neal said. "Because from what I can see you're too scared to let her know how you feel."

"Do you think it really matters how I feel?" Rhys snapped. "Do you think she's in any position to deal with any of this? Honestly? Belle isn't like other women, son."

"I don't know if you've noticed," Neal replied with a calm that set Rhys' teeth on edge. "But she's not broken. I'll admit I had my doubts about it, but she seems like she's doing well. If anything, I think it might help her."

"You haven't even been here a day," Rhys said. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Maybe not," Neal said. "But you should think about telling her the truth. She's an adult, and I think she cares about you more than you think."

Rhys had no response to that, and Neal didn't wait for one. He simply tucked a book under his arm and walked out of the room, leaving his father alone with his thoughts.

There had been a time in Belle's life when she had scarcely been alone. She had been cossetted by maids and a governess who had kept her clean and entertained and under constant supervision. Once she'd been hurt, she hadn't wanted to be around anyone else and had been able to talk her father into not forcing her into spending too much time around anyone else, and aside from the nurse who had cared for her while she'd been bedridden, she had managed to be largely alone.

It was rather surprising to her how much she enjoyed the peace and quiet. When people were constantly around, it was easy to forget their presence. Once she had gotten truly used to having space and solitude when she wanted it, it was a strange sort of luxury for her. She could read whatever she liked no matter how scandalous, she could forgo a stiff corset for soft quilted jumps if she chose (and since Lizzie and Grace had been gone by the time she finished her bath, that's exactly what she had decided to do). There were hours left before she would have to dress for dinner, and she fully intended to make the most of them.

She'd found a new book to read. This was another of her Indian translations. It was some sort of manual for the wealthy classes in India for home life - there was an entire chapter on arranging furniture, for example. She was distractedly turning pages, more out of interest in the colorful illustrations than the directions for the proper behavior of a townsman in ancient India.

When she reached section two, however, Belle slammed the book shut out of pure shock. This section dealt with what was politely referred to as 'embraces,' though Belle hadn't seen such a thing done before. The illustrations themselves had suddenly become scandalous. Surely, Mr. Simon hadn't known everything that was in this particular lot. It had come from a private collection, and Rhys had purchased it before it had been inventoried. He couldn't have known, because nobody would ever sell a book like that for a lady to read - she wasn't even sure it was legal for her to _have_ this book.

If she'd been a more virtuous, Belle would have set the book aside and given it to her husband to destroy, but she'd always been a curious girl and it galled her that she had no proper knowledge of _embraces_. Checking to make sure she was truly alone, Belle reopened the book to the chapter she had left it at. There were more than just pictures. The text of the book fascinated her, and she became completely engrossed in it. It outlined different ways of kissing or touching, and advocated spending hours in those pursuits. Kissing and being held were things Belle knew she could do, and which she had done. The idea of spending hours just having her skin stroked sent a shiver through her body, and she had the sudden, overwhelming image of laying next to her husband as he simply touched her or kissed her neck. It was something it had never even occurred to her to want before, but now she couldn't get the idea out of her head.

She became so engrossed in this manual that she didn't even hear Lizzie coming to fetch her for dinner until the girl announced herself. Belle slammed the book shut and looked up helplessly, hoping she wasn't too flushed,despite the warmth she felt in her face.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Lizzie said, obviously picking up on at least some of Belle's distress. "But it's time to get ready for dinner."

"Right," Belle replied, standing up on legs that had become wobbly. "Dinner. I'm sorry, I guess I just lost track of time. Dinner."

She couldn't look the maid in the eye as she walked to her rooms from the library. Belle tucked the book she'd been reading under her pillow while Lizzie laid out her underclothes and dress for the evening - it was probably the sort of thing best suited to read alone when she couldn't sleep, anyway. The last thing she wanted was to be caught with it.

It was peculiar how intensely the book had affected her in just a short time reading it. Belle knew very little of what was supposed to happen between a man and his wife, and she was beginning to understand that what little she had thought she knew had been wrong. The expectation she'd always had was that she would learn what she needed from her husband, and she had accepted that. After what had happened to her, she had taken for granted that what Nottingham had done to her had reflected at least some version of what it would be like. She'd only recently come to realize that it wouldn't necessarily be _painful_ every time it happened, but the idea that it had the potential to be _pleasant_ as the text seemed to suggest had her at a complete loss for how to proceed.

Belle's first inclination was to ask her husband back to her bed and test out her new knowledge, but she was stymied in that by a lack of vocabulary. Short of showing him the pictures (which felt entirely out of the question) she had no idea how to ask for what she wanted to try. She also didn't want to run the risk of reacting the way she had the last time they had tried to do more. They'd only barely started speaking again, and she didn't dare chance another failure like that. She needed to know she was ready before she pushed him for more again, and she wasn't quite sure how to determine that yet.

By the time Lizzie had finished pinning her hair up and lacing her tightly into her dress, the strange buzzing sensation in her belly had settled down, but Belle was still distracted beyond reason. Once the maid left, she took a look at herself in the mirror. Her skin had lightened a bit since her marriage, but the fine dusting of freckles she'd developed during her walks had remained.

She'd never been one to use cosmetics, but she did have some kept in a little box on her vanity. They hadn't been touched in well over a year, and even then it was mostly a dusting of rice powder to smooth her complexion. She had nothing in the box to bring color to her lips, and only the lightest of color for her cheeks. Still, these things were easily applied and she liked the way she looked in the mirror. It had been too long since she'd cared much about her appearance, but for some reason she wanted to draw her husband's eye. Not that there was overmuch competition for his attention in their little house in the country, but it felt nice. It was something she would have done to prepare for a ball in another lifetime, to make sure that if anyone spoke of her it would be because she was beautiful and young and had a good life ahead of her.

Belle's face still looked young, but her eyes were older now. Belladonna in each eye would give her that youthful glow again, but she wouldn't bring poison into her house. She would just have to live with older eyes and the hard-earned wisdom that had come with them.

It seemed that her preparations had been a success, if the smile that Rhys gave her when he first saw her was any indication. Neal was watching his father more than her, and Belle wondered what they'd been talking about while she had been reading. She'd tried to leave them plenty of time for whatever business had needed to be attended to, but dinner was her time to rejoin the family and prove herself.

"So Belle," Neal asked once they were settled at the table. "How is your dog doing?"

"She's well, thank you," Belle replied. "She spent the entire afternoon asleep in her basket. I suspect she wore herself out."

"Well, it was a very big adventure for a little dog," he said. "I doubt she'll forget it any time soon."

"I doubt any of us will," Rhys broke in. "I don't think I've ever seen so many people so invested in a puppy."

"But such a pretty one," Neal said. "Who can blame them?"

Belle couldn't help but smile at that. She loved Rose desperately, and it definitely didn't hurt Neal in her estimation that he'd been the one to find her.

"My husband has excellent taste," Belle replied, glancing to Rhys in time to see him direct his attention directly at his spoon. "She's very dear to me."

"That reminds me," Rhys said to a spot somewhere above her left shoulder. "I have a gift for you after dinner."

"You'll spoil me," she replied and he simply shrugged and went back to his meal. What on Earth did her husband have for her this time?

"Perhaps," he said with a mysterious smile. "But that remains my prerogative."

She felt herself become a little agitated at the idea of a surprise, but he was watching her nervously and she could tell he was making sure she wasn't upset. That in and of itself soothed her a bit. He was worried about her, but he was giving her just this little test which was so much smaller than the one she had set before herself the night she'd ruined everything.

Belle decided to make a conscious effort to relax her shoulders and simply trust her husband. So far, he'd not let her down or given her any cause to doubt him personally. Even if she was still leery of men in general, couldn't she at least trust Rhys? It was going to be a miserable rest of her life if she couldn't manage that much.

"By the way," Belle said, turning toward Neal. "I did want to thank you again for finding Rose. I don't know what we'd have done without you."

"It was my pleasure," he said. "It's not every day I get to go on an epic quest, after all."

She giggled at that, and conversation progressed fairly well throughout dinner. It was nice to just have dinner like a normal person without everyone worrying over her, without worrying over herself and whether or not her reactions were the proper ones. She was actually rather surprised at how much she enjoyed Neal's company, all things considered. He was funny and he reminded her a bit of his father. It was a peculiar thing how attached she'd become to her husband, but she was. Rhys had gone out of his way for her and she liked it.

Her after dinner gift had turned out to be a pretty jeweled collar for Rose and a matching leash made of leather. She'd kissed him on the cheek - pretending not to notice the smug grin on Neal's face - and had then gone to track down the dog, who was a little less enthusiastic about the present than the humans had been. Teaching her to walk on the leash was going to be an entirely different matter, but at least now Belle had some recourse against the dog taking another unexpected tour through the wilderness.

By the time the household was ready to retire for the evening, Belle had almost forgotten about the book tucked under her pillow, but it was still there waiting for her after her hair had been let down and she was safely left alone in her nightclothes and a dressing gown. The idea of simply laying with someone and touching and kissing for hours was just as enticing as it had been before dinner, and that strange buzzing feeling from her earlier perusal of it had returned.

She wondered if Rhys would reject her if she asked him back to her room that night. Their last time together had ended so badly, but they'd made so much progress before and it had felt like they were reaching some new understanding during the day. He'd helped her with her dog, he'd given her a gift, and conversation had felt easier than she would have expected. It didn't even have to be the whole night, she reasoned. She just wanted to _try_, and in the end the ideas wouldn't leave her head and spurred her down the hall to the rooms she knew her husband occupied. It was also entirely possible he'd be downstairs in his study, but his room was closer and so she knocked on the door half expecting him to be asleep.

Instead, the door swung open and he looked confused to see her, but still smiled when she did.

"Belle," he breathed her name like he hardly believed she was there. "Did you need something?"

And that was the crux of the issue, wasn't it? She did need something. She needed courage, and strength, and the words to ask for what she wanted, and a little bit more time to adjust to the idea of him - and she needed him, too. Deep under everything else was that fundamental truth, the grain of sand around which a pearl would form. She needed Rhys, and she _wanted_ to need him.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied at last, knowing he would understand the meaning of her statement.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked, stepping back from the door to allow her entrance and she didn't speak as she walked past him and towards the bedroom.

She heard him follow her, but she wasn't afraid even as she climbed into his bed. He looked at her for a split second longer than necessary as she removed her dressing gown and slid under his dark red sheets, but he quickly caught himself and divested himself of his own robe and snuffed the candles before joining her there. She felt him lay down, and before she could second guess her decision, she slid across to his side, tucking herself against his side and tracing careful patterns across his collar bones with her fingertips. He exhaled softly and pulled her closer with one arm. His hand rested on the dip of her waist, and she wondered if he even realized his thumb was moving in slow circles against her side or if it was simply a natural reaction to her touch and her closeness.

Either way, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let herself focus on his touch. It wasn't much, but it was soft and pleasant and stoked the buzzing in her belly into a pleasant warmth that drew her closer. She didn't sleep for a long time, learning the feel of his skin under her fingers as she grew bolder and traced her fingers across his throat and his face. He eventually brought his free hand to hers, drawing her fingers to his lips and kissing each one in turn before releasing her and resting his palm over her elbow. The touch of his lips to her fingers stole her breath for a split second, but then she was back to her leisurely exploration of _him_. Her fingers went to his hair of their own accord, feeling the softness of it and the different textures between the hair at his temples and the nape of his neck. She ran her fingertips from root to tip, and twirled the strands around and around.

There was a softness to her husband she'd never have expected in this marriage, and she was completely enraptured by it. He drew her in and she found herself tempted by his shyness in the face of her obvious advances. She wanted more, even as she was sure she absolutely was not prepared to handle _more_ yet. The temptation itself was intoxicating, though. It was beautiful and dangerous and she loved it. Was this what made other women fall, then? She knew there must be at least some temptation to men, though she'd never truly experienced it before now. Rhys tempted her, and that was enough for right now.

He let out a soft sigh that could have been her name, and his hand that had been on her waist trailed down to settle on her hip. She'd never really been touched so intimately before, and the feel of his palm spread a warmth from where he touched her and drew her further into him. It was a dizzying feeling of contentedness and she felt like a housecat caught in a beam of sunlight - drowsy and safe. She arched upwards, brushing her lips gently across his jawline and feeling the hint of stubble there. He made no move to turn into her kiss or pull her too tightly against him; as it had before, his gentle acceptance of her boundaries drew her closer even as her eyes grew heavy and sleep finally claimed her.

The last time he'd had Belle in his arms all night, he'd failed to sleep. This time, even with her soft touches and careful exploration, sleep had been the most natural thing in the world. If it hadn't been for the rosewater scent of her, he would have thought he had been dreaming as he awoke late the next morning. She was still there, and not a figment of his lovestruck imagination. The night before he'd half believed her a fairy after seeing the way her skin had glowed in the candlelight as she rested her head on the dark red pillows of his bed. He'd slept in those sheets for months, and never before had the color of them seemed unreal.

He had no idea what impulse had brought her to his door, and he would never question it for fear of breaking the spell. Nobody had ever touched him so gently or so reverently before, not even his previous wife. He could only be thankful that the darkness had kept her from seeing how deeply it had affected him.

Belle was still dozing when he woke, so he took advantage of the opportunity to study her face in the light of day. She looked the same as always, which is to say, she was beautiful in a rare sort of way. Some of her hair had come loose from her braid in the nighttime, and he couldn't resist the chance to touch her hair the way she'd touched his in the dark. Her hair was almost never let down, and he'd never truly had a chance to feel it before. He wrapped the loose curl around his finger when she stirred, looking up at him with wide eyes and he guiltily snatched his hand back. She smiled, though, and reached behind her to untie the ribbon that had held the braid in place all night.

Taking advantage of this tacit permission, he quickly unravelled the braid, raking his fingers through her hair. She sighed softly and nuzzled back into his chest as he touched her and breathed in the smell of her. He filled his senses with her, not daring to break the spell by speaking.

"What time is it?" she finally asked, her voice muffled by his chest.

He glanced to the window. The curtains were still drawn, but light was spilling out from around them.

"From the look of the light, it's midmorning."

"Oh," she muttered. "I should probably be back to my room, then."

He nodded and relaxed his arms, letting her roll over to the other side of the bed and climb out of it. Her nightgown pooled around her knees as she sat on the edge of the bed only to fall back to her ankles as she stood. The brief glimpse of her legs filled him with a helpless longing. He wanted her to want him, although it may be a fool's desire. She seemed closer, though, than she ever had. Perhaps he wasn't so foolish after all.

He got up as well, putting on his dressing gown and going around to help her untuck her hair from the back of hers. They walked to the door of his chambers together and he opened it for her. She stood in the hallway for a second with a warm smile on her face before he gathered his courage to kiss her forehead gently. Belle blushed just a bit and turned to leave, only to almost walk straight into Neal, who was watching his father with eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face.

Rhys could see Belle blushing a deep crimson, and heard her wish his son a quick _good morning_ before skurrying back to her own room. He, however, was totally trapped there under the weight of Neal's gaze. He seemed more amused than anything else, and what he'd seen was hardly scandalous, but Rhys had absolutely no idea what to say to the 'I-told-you-so' look on his son's face.

Finally, Neal shot his eyebrows up and down quickly and strode off to the stairs, whistling all the way down. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

**Historical Note:** The book Belle is reading is the Kamasutra of Vastsyayana. It was first translated into English in 1883, and yes, there is a chapter in it that is simply tips for how to arrange your furniture. Not for sex, for sitting on. Westerners tend to have an idea of it as purely a sex manual, but that really just makes up a few chapters of the second section. However, the first two chapters of the second section are different ways to touch your love and different ways to kiss, and those are the chapters Belle is on right now. There's also an entire chapter on different types of bites. Later sections are on the duty of a wife, how to court a woman, and the duties of the intermediary between two lovers. Now, all those things don't mean that it's not pretty illegal for Belle to have been sold that. Ladies were sheltered from any depictions of sex, so while pornography was produced and published during that time it was the sort of thing men had in their library, not women.


	21. Acquainted With the Night

There's a suicide mention tw on this chapter. If that sort of thing bothers you, stop reading when Belle goes out into the hall with Dr. Hopper and scroll to the bottom so I can explain what you missed.

* * *

Ruby liked to think she was a sensible woman. She'd lost her entire family to influenza before she was eighteen and had found herself with a company to run and no family left except a grandmother and a fiance. After Peter had died a month before their wedding, she'd thrown herself into her father's business with more gusto than skill - and a lot of pure beginner's luck. There had been a fairly steep learning curve, but she'd become adept at finding those who had the experience to make up for where her finishing school education had failed her, and that was a talent that had served her well.

Her efforts had indeed paid off, and Ruby was one of the few heiresses with full control of her own destiny. She could choose her companions, she could set her own hours, and she could decide whether or not to marry. It had been a relief, in a way, to know that she'd never have to worry about losing anyone else she loved before their time. There would be no husband and no children to become sick and leave her and no chance of her leaving anyone else. Her Granny would sometimes nag her about it, wondering when her only surviving descendant would settle down. Each wedding announcement in the paper seemed a ticking of the clock to Mrs. Lucas, while Ruby saw only a freedom from hurt. She had money enough to last her the rest of her days in comfort unless she overextended herself, and that would be enough.

She still attended parties sometimes, mostly those of her close friends. Unlike the other girls there, though, she had to be awake the next morning to hear from lawyers and board members and to read reports. She tried to think of it as being a mother to the company, and the men she hired were its nannies and governesses. If she wanted this child to continue to grow and thrive, she needed to be involved in its daily life - she was ultimately the only one responsible for it, and nobody would ever care as much as she did if it was successful.

It was very distressing when she started to like the Englishman, then. He was here for a bride, and she had no desire to be one. At first it had seemed like a harmless little lark. She'd never had an opportunity to meet anyone with a title (or heir to one, as the case may be) and when the opportunity had presented itself there hadn't been anyone to tell her no. Anyway, he'd seemed like he needed a kind word, so she'd given him one. She'd thought him handsome, but hadn't quite managed to form too much of an opinion on him beyond that. A few days into the house party, though, she was pretty sure she was in trouble.

He liked to hunt. Ruby had always enjoyed the outdoors; even when she'd been a girl she had always been happier outside. It wasn't really ladylike, but there had been no keeping her inside, and after a while her parents had relented. Ruby had been on horses since she'd been in pinafores and had been on her first hunt before she'd started her monthlies. Sometimes men found it a little intimidating (especially when coupled with the business), which tended to work to her advantage when she wasn't looking for a husband, but Gaston French had simply taken in this knowledge with a startling enthusiasm before engaging her in a forty-five minute long conversation about hunting. The truly strange part, though, was not that he wanted to talk to her, nor that he concluded the conversation with a vague comment about the prime hunting on his estate. No, the strange part was that Ruby actually enjoyed that conversation and found herself a little sad when it was over and he had to move on to other people.

There was a peculiar pang in her heart as she sat with the other ladies and talked about dresses and children and husbands and things she would have found interesting less than ten years previously. He would choose a bride soon (in fact, he had already come to her asking her opinion on the matter) and then he'd leave. It was so silly to be disappointed by that, but he was new and interesting and damn her, she found that fascinating. It had been so _long_ since she'd wanted to spend much time with another person. Maybe she was just lonely. She should probably just get a pet or something.

The other women all got quiet, and Ruby looked up to see Gaston French standing in the doorway with a bashful smile on his face.

"Excuse me, ladies," he said, earning himself a round of giggles. "I had hoped to steal Miss Lucas for a moment."

As one, the other women turned towards Ruby with a variety of expressions on their faces. There was nothing she could do but set her cup down in front of her and join him in the hallway. The other women didn't start talking again until she and Gaston were out of sight, and she couldn't help but to feel their eyes on her back.

"What are you doing?" she scolded as soon as they were out of earshot. "They're all going to think you've got some interest in me."

"So?" he replied with a shrug. "That's hardly the worst thing they could think."

"You cannot be this dense," she said. "If you're looking for a wife, you can't be spending time alone with single women."

"Who said I was still looking?" he asked earnestly, fixing her with a gaze that had her stomach doing somersaults. She knew what that feeling meant, and it instantly set her on edge. The last thing she needed was emotions that could just get her hurt all over again.

"You're still looking," she replied as firmly as she could. "You are definitely still looking."

He chuckled a little and nodded, and she felt her resolve crumbling in the face of how boyishly handsome he looked. Damn her romantic heart.

"I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a ride tomorrow morning," he asked, looking into her eyes hopefully.

She should say no. She should say no and let him down gently, go back into the drawing room with the other women and forget she liked him. She wasn't going to be able to handle having her heart broken again, and liking him any more than she already did was risking that.

"Alright," she said at last. "Tomorrow."

He smiled and bowed before turning and practically skipping down the hall. She was going to get herself into so much trouble, but she hadn't been able to say no. Was she just planning to marry him so she didn't have to make him sad?

She was entirely beyond hope.

Belle wasn't sure what had possessed her husband to plan a picnic by himself, but he'd only come to her to ask if she thought the old fort just outside of town was a good place to visit. It was an incredibly common destination for groups to spend the afternoon exploring or eating, and Belle had been several times in her life - which was fortunate, because neither her husband nor his son had ever been. As far as she could tell, Neal actually hadn't ever spent much time at all outside of the city, and he was almost as distracted by the birds as Rose (who was still having a few problems adjusting to her new leashed lifestyle).

The best place to picnic on, as far as Belle was concerned, was in what had been the parade yard of the fort. In the time since it had been abandoned, a large oak tree had taken root and grown there and it was now quite a decent size and provided a pleasant shade.

"So you've been here before?" Neal asked her once they were seated on blankets with hampers of food between them.

"Oh many times," she replied. "My friends and I used to sneak up here to go exploring sometimes."

"How old were you?" Rhys asked, sounding a little scandalized. "It's nearly five miles from your father's house."

"Probably around eleven," she said. "But it's half that distance from my friend Miranda's house, and only a mile or so from her grandmother's."

It had been the most freedom she'd ever experienced in her life. Gaston had been away at school, and far too old to be interested in the day-to-day activities of little girls even if he hadn't been. The two of them had spent several days visiting with the older woman, which had allowed them the freedom to roam into the outskirts of the town unsupervised.

There was an alcove in the fort that opened along a southern-facing wall that the girls found particularly intriguing. It had been used to store ammunition or something when the fort was functional, but by then it was simply an incredibly dark room. No light penetrated beyond the first foot or two no matter the time of day, and the one time they had brought a candle with them they still hadn't been able to see very far in. Perhaps the most daring thing Belle had ever attempted was trying to find the back of the alcove. She had stepped into the dark with her hands held in front of her and took slow steps towards the back. The two children had tried this multiple times, but never managed to feel all the way to the back before a fear of snakes and spiders and things that went bump in the night would inevitably draw them back out. She hadn't thought of that alcove in years, and she wondered if now she might finally be brave enough to reach the end.

"What happened to her?" Neal asked, startling Belle out of her thoughts. "To your friend."

"What always happens with girls, I suppose," Belle said. "We grew apart, and she got married."

And even if they hadn't, Miranda was the daughter of a local judge and Belle the daughter of a Viscount and then Belle had been ruined and female companionship of any sort had become the last thing on her mind. Even now, she still didn't want to run the risk of approaching her old friends and putting them in a position to be forced to reject her. She was safer where she was, and happier, too.

At least the conversation was able to go on much without her while she prepared a plate for the puppy and then fed herself, allowing her to be lost in her memories a little longer. The trip was enjoyable, but it was a strange echo of her childhood and it made her feel strange to be there as an adult with her husband. As a girl, she'd always thought the fort might be haunted and she couldn't help but wonder if maybe she'd been correct at the time.

After dinner, Neal decided he wanted a tour, which Belle was happy to accommodate him on. Rhys tagged along, so the three of them (and Rose) made their way through the various rooms and ruins of the fort as Belle relayed stories of the games she'd played there as a child and whatever local lore she happened to know. It was a fairly pleasant way to spend the day, all things considered. Belle hadn't spent much time thinking about this place in what felt like ages, and she hadn't even realized she'd missed it.

The final place to visit was the tower. There had been two of them at one time, but at some point the other one had been destroyed. It provided a grand view of the area and had been the home of many a dragon-guarded princess in Belle's time. The stairs were a little bit crumblier than she remembered them being, but they all made it up safely anyway. It had been a long time since she'd been up there, and the last time had involved waiting patiently in the hopes a wandering knight would stumble on her and fall desperately in love. Now she was here with her husband, because the mystery knight had never appeared when she'd needed help - but Rhys had. It was a surprisingly nice thought, wasn't it? That her husband would save her when she needed help. It wasn't something she'd ever known to want, but it was true now.

When they descended the stairs, she took the chance of leaning over and kissing him on the cheek about midway down. He paused for a second and glanced at her, and she smiled because she couldn't help being entirely too happy. She was holding the puppy in her arms, and took the next step and Rhys began to follow and that's when he fell.

Rhys hit the ground so hard he saw stars. Looking up at his wife and son in a daze, he couldn't figure out why they were still standing on the stairs above him. It took a split second for Neal to start moving, but his son was at his side soon and Belle wasn't far behind. She set the dog down and knelt next to him and he couldn't quite take his eyes away from her face. She looked so scared; he wanted to reassure her but he was feeling dazed and there was a pain shooting up his bad leg and his wrist.

"Papa," Neal said. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Rhys managed to say at last. "I just took a bit of a tumble."

"Can you stand?" Neal asked.

Rhys nodded, but when he reached for his cane, his hand couldn't properly grip it.

"I hurt my wrist," he finally admitted. "And my leg hurts."

"Damn, Papa," Neal muttered and Rhys didn't really have the inclination to scold him for his language. "Did you break it?"

Rhys wasn't sure, so he didn't answer. Instead he looked over to Belle, who was stroking his hair and looked like she might cry. He wanted to comfort her, but Neal pulled him up and held him upright.

"We need to get him home," Neal said. and Rhys heard Belle agree.

The carriage ride back to the house was a blur of blue eyes and bumpy roads, but soon enough he was being dragged into his bedroom by Neal and Jefferson and his boots were off and he was in bed and Belle was sitting on the side of his bed and holding his good hand.

"It'll be okay," she said. "We've sent for the doctor, he'll be here soon."

"He's going to tell me to take a walk," Rhys said. "He always tells me to take a walk."

She giggled a little bit.

"Only sometimes," she replied. "But you hit your head when you fell, and your wrist is broken."

"Oh," was all he could think to say. "Is it?"

"I think so," she said, stroking his hair a little. "Just rest and wait for the doctor."

"Anything for you," he said, turning into her hand as she touched his hair. "I'm sorry to have been so much trouble."

"You're not trouble," she replied quickly. "I shouldn't have distracted you. I'm sorry."

"I liked it," he said.

"I did, too," she said, leaning down and kissing his cheek again. "But rest, dear."

"You sound like my mother," he said. "She would always say that when I was sick."

"Oh?"

He nodded, and felt a wave of dizziness come over him when he did.

"Will you tell me about her?"

There was a reason he hadn't told her before, but he couldn't think of it right now.

"She was pretty like you," he said, and that earned him another smile. "And kind. And I loved her very much."

"I wish I could have known her," she said, stroking his hair again. "Would you tell me a story about her?"

"My father used to be gone for months at a time," he said. "So it would be just the two of us."

"Was he a sailor?" she asked.

"Just a drunk," he replied, trying to focus on her face. "I don't know where he went. But when he was gone, I would help out whenever I could. Mostly I'd do odd jobs, whatever brought home a little bit of money. I still remember when we'd have some extra money she would buy me a little piece of penny candy and at night she would sit at the side of the bed before I went to sleep and sing to me and then give me the candy. I was so happy those times."

Belle had tears in her eyes and Rhys was kicking himself, because he never remembered how awful that story sounded to the wealthy. They didn't like to think about little boys and their mothers being left alone or the level of poverty he'd been in. He was struggling to think of some way to lessen the effect of the story on her when she squeezed his good hand lightly.

"That was a lovely story," she said at last. "Thank you for telling it to me. What happened to your parents?"

That wasn't something he liked to think about. It was red and hot and terrible and he was crying and Belle was shushing him and looked alarmed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You don't have to answer."

"They're both dead," he sobbed. "Dead and gone and it's all my fault."

She was petting his hair again, and that soothed him a bit. He liked the way it felt when she touched him. He was having a little bit of trouble focusing, but the way the light from the window was blurring around her made her look like an angel. She giggled and smiled at him and he realized he'd said it out loud, but he didn't have time to be embarrassed with the entrance of the doctor.

Belle had known Dr. Hopper for years now. He'd come to town when the previous physician, who had delivered her, retired. He'd been the one to see her when she had returned home from London in order to convalesce, though, and she was desperately hoping he wouldn't mention anything about that. It felt like it had been ages since she was that girl bedridden and dying, and his presence here was just a reminder of how far she'd fallen before.

"Good afternoon," Dr. Hopper said, coming to displace Belle at her husband's side. "How is he doing?"

"He's…" she was looking for a way to explain the odd behavior. "He's talking, but he's acting erratically."

"His son said he hit his head?" Dr. Hopper asked, prodding Rhys and feeling his heartbeat.

"He did," she confirmed. "He fell on the stairs at the old fort. I didn't think it was that hard, but…"

"Mr. Gold," Dr. Hopper said. "I need you to follow my finger with your eyes, okay?"

Rhys nodded, and Dr. Hopper began moving his index finger back and forth in front of her husband's eyes. Even Belle could see that Rhys was having trouble following, and finally he just settled his eyes back on her.

"Mr. Gold," Dr. Hopper said, pulling Rhys' attention back to him. "How long have you been married?"

Rhys looked confused for a few minutes and glanced to Belle and back to the doctor.

"A few weeks," he said at last. "Not too long."

"Is that correct?" Dr. Hopper said, looking back to Belle.

"It's been just over three months," she replied, feeling her heart sink into her belly at her husband's forgetfulness. Something was very, very wrong.

Dr. Hopper looked back to Rhys and made a humming noise. He held one of Rhys' eyelids open and stared at him for a long while before moving on to the other one.

"Mr. Gold, I'm afraid you have a mild concussion," Dr. Hopper said at last. "You'll need plenty of rest, but you'll be fine."

Belle could have fainted from relief, but instead she sat down at the foot of Rhys' bed - eliciting a groan that reminded her of his other, less serious, injuries.

"He said his leg and arm hurt as well," she said, and Dr. Hopper nodded, picking up Rhys' wrist and probing it gently. She could see it was swollen, and her husband hissed in pain at the touch.

"He definitely broke that," Dr. Hopper said, gesturing for Belle to stand again and then he threw off the bedclothes and bent to examine Rhys' leg. "This is just a sprain, though. It probably only hurt so much because of the injury that was already there. I suspect when he fell, he threw his hands up to protect his head and that's how he hurt his wrist."

Belle simply nodded, because what else could she do? She hated feeling helpless, and here she was completely useless to her husband. It was all she could do to keep track of what the doctor was telling her.

"Can you ring for his valet?" Dr. Hopper asked. "There's no reason for him to remain in these clothes."

"Of course," Belle said, running to ring for Jefferson while the doctor rolled up Rhys' sleeve and began to wrap it in a splint.

It didn't take Jefferson long to reach the room, and after Dr. Hopper gave him instructions he immediately set to work pulling out clean nightclothes, and Belle was once again left without anything to do.

"Mrs. Gold?" the doctor got her attention. "May I speak with you in the hall?"

She nodded and followed him out the door. There was some grumbling noises and a little bit of yelling to be heard from the room once she shut the door, and she was quite certain she didn't want to know what was going on, but her husband trusted Jefferson and that was good enough for her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked the doctor. "Is there something wrong with my husband?"

"Oh, no," Dr. Hopper said. "He shouldn't be alone for a day or two until his brain has time to recover, and the splint needs to stay on him for at least six weeks. But I'm not particularly worried about his prognosis."

Belle let out a deep sigh and swayed a little on her feet. Rhys would be okay, that meant her life was going to be able to continue. She hadn't even realized how terrified she'd been that something was very wrong until that very moment.

"Thank goodness," she finally said.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing," Dr. Hopper said at last. "The last time I saw you, you weren't in a good place."

"I've been busy," she replied testily. "I've only been married a little while, after all."

"Yes, I know," he said quickly. "I just wanted to make sure that things were going well."

"Very well," she said. "My husband is very dear to me and treats me very well."

"That's good to hear," he replied so earnestly it was hard to maintain her annoyance with him. "And you haven't felt the urge to do anything quite so drastic again?"

That was a question nobody had ever dared to ask her before, or at least not quite so bluntly, and it took her a moment to formulate an answer.

"No," she finally said. "I haven't wanted to kill myself since before I was married. Are we done?"

"Yes, of course," he said quickly. "I'm sorry for bringing up any bad memories. Do call for me if you need anything at all."

"I will," she said, feeling exhaustion begin to work its way into her soul. "But for now, I should see to my husband. The maid will show you out."

She should walk him to the door herself, but she didn't have the emotional fortitude to do so and she needed reassure herself that Rhys was healthy and happy. Dr. Hopper simply nodded and descended the stairs while Belle returned to her husband's room. He was still a little dazed, but somehow Jefferson had managed to get him into his nightclothes.

"Belle," Rhys said with a smile on his face. "You came back."

"Don't be silly," she replied, dropping down into the chair next to his bed again. "I was only just outside."

He reached his good hand out and she held it in both of hers.

"The doctor left him some laudanum," Jefferson said from his place near the end of the bed. "He's not allowed to have any until his concussion goes away, though."

"I keep telling him I feel fine," Rhys added. "But he won't let me have any for my wrist."

"And I'm not going to let you have it, either," she replied. "We'll see how you're feeling tomorrow."

Rhys grumbled, but stopped as soon as she reached out to toy with his hair a little.

"Will you need anything?" Jefferson asked at last.

"No," Belle said, barely turning away from her husband. "You can tell Neal that he can come back upstairs, though."

Poor Neal had been sent downstairs almost immediately after his father was deposited in bed. Rhys kept insisting he didn't need Neal to waste time on nothing, and Neal had muttered something about needing to wait for the doctor anyway. Belle could only imagine that he'd probably been climbing the walls in the parlor waiting for news.

Jefferson nodded and let himself out of the room, leaving Belle and her husband alone again. What would Rhys say, she wondered, if he knew her secret? He certainly knew of her bedrest and that she'd gone through terrible times, but she'd never told him about the worst day - the day that she hadn't been brave enough or strong enough anymore. It had been so _easy_, and the worst part was she didn't regret it. She didn't regret a single moment of it. She had hated being so ill afterward, but had she succeeded...she didn't have much of an opinion on that, really. She was beginning to enjoy her life again, but there were still days that she wondered if it wouldn't have been better everyone if she hadn't failed.

Neal entered quietly, jarring Belle from her thoughts. Rhys was dozing lightly now, but Belle wasn't going to leave him for any reason she could foresee.

"How's he doing?" Neal asked, taking Jefferson's place by the footboard.

"Well enough," Belle said. "The doctor says he should be fine in a day or two, except for his wrist."

"That's good," Neal replied. "How are you holding up?"

That question took her by surprise and she looked up at him quickly.

"I'm well," she told him. "He gave me a fright, but knowing that he'll be okay...I'll be fine."

"Good," Neal said. "I have to write some letters I've been putting off. Will you be all right with him?"

"We'll be fine," Belle said. "I'll take care of him."

Neal smiled at her, and took his leave. Belle was glad to at last be alone with her husband. He looked so small in the bed like that, and she hated to leave him there by himself. It didn't take long to strip herself out of her dress, though her corset took a bit more maneuvering to get it unfastened at the front. Once she was in her shift and stockings, she climbed into bed with him and slid under the covers.

It was strange how something like this had become such a comfort to her the last few weeks. Sharing a bed with her husband kept her _there_, though, when she sometimes felt herself slipping away - and she was sliding through her fingers now. It didn't matter if he was awake or not, or that he was too injured to hold her properly. Belle still curled onto her side with her hand on his chest, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Emboldened, she moved closer still, resting her head on his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. Her husband was alive and they were happy and that could keep her going for now. This was, perhaps, the one thing that she knew was unequivocally good about failing to kill herself. She'd never have known Rhys had she succeeded, and she was glad to have him in her life now. He was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she wanted to be that to him, too.

* * *

Yeah, so I know a lot of people were theorizing that Belle got pregnant and had an abortion/terminated the pregnancy but she tried to poison herself in the wake of what happened and was sent back to the country house to 'convalesce' so that nobody would find out about it. That's also when her maid would have left her employ. We'll be revisiting this again later on to get more into her motives, and also because Rhys still doesn't know.


	22. I Will Not Ask You Where You Came From

There is a trigger warning for references to spousal abuse, murder, and psychiatric abuse in this chapter.

* * *

Rhys felt incredibly disoriented when he woke up. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or why his head wouldn't stop aching. It took him a few moments to remember that he'd tripped and the doctor had been by. His leg felt better, but his wrist was more than making up for it with a dull ache that felt like he may have been trampled.

He stretched out a little to try and figure out his limits, but his good hand brushed against something and when he looked over he saw his wife asleep next to him. There was a book in her hand and she was laying on her side facing him. She looked exactly like she'd fallen asleep while keeping an eye on him, and that made his heart skip a beat. It skipped another one when her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him and smiled.

"You're awake," she said, reaching out and touching his face. "I was a little worried."

"How long did I sleep?" he asked.

"All day," she replied, glancing over to the windows. "And apparently about half of the night."

"My head is killing me."

"I have some medicine for that," she said, sitting up and moving closer to him. "But you're not allowed to have it until your concussion goes away."

She reached over him to his bedside table for an oil lamp and a matchbook. The sudden burst of light as she lit it burned his eyes and he looked away for a second until his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

"Sorry," she said sweetly, setting the lantern down and studying his face. "Can you follow my finger with my eyes?"

He nodded, and dutifully tracked the movement of her finger in the soft light.

"You seem better," she said, still studying him. "I can give you a bit of the laudanum if you'd like?"

"Maybe a little," he said. He didn't like the idea of being drugged after having just slept for so long, but his head hurt so badly he wanted to cry from the frustration of not being able to fix it.

Belle nodded and climbed out of the bed, and Rhys saw that she wasn't wearing one of her nightgowns - she was wearing a shift and it was shorter and thinner than the things he was used to seeing her in. She must have stayed with him all day without even leaving to change. When she passed in front of the fire (even as low as it was burning) he caught a glimpse of her legs outlined against the white fabric, and when she had her back to him he could see her pale calves visible beneath the hem. He laid back against the pillow and stared at the canopy rather than his wife. He suspected rather strongly she hadn't been thinking of how exposed she would be in the shift, or else he strongly doubted she would have been wearing it.

"Have you gone back to your room yet?" he asked her when he heard her approach.

"No," she admitted, and he could hear her mixing the laudanum with water. "The doctor said you shouldn't be alone."

"So you've been here all night?" he asked, sitting up a little and fixing his eyes on her face. "Have you eaten?"

"I had a tray brought up," she said. "And Grace brought me a book."

"That's good," he replied, taking the glass of laudanum water from her gratefully and sipping down the bitter mixture. "You need to mind your health."

"My health is worlds better than yours right now," she shot back, climbing back into bed with a smile on her face. "Next time I'll put you on the leash and let Rose run free."

He wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much.

"Are _you_ hungry?" she asked. "I could go get something."

"I'm not," he said, although it wasn't entirely true. "What did the doctor say about my wrist?"

"Don't you remember?" she asked. "You were awake and talking to him."

"I remember a little," he replied. "But some of it's a bit fuzzy."

"He said you'll be right as rain in about six weeks," she said. "So um, do you remember anything we talked about?"

"I didn't say anything _too_ ridiculous, did I?"

"No no," she replied quickly. "Well, apparently I look like your mother, but aside from that…"

He cringed. He _definitely_ didn't remember saying that, no woman liked to be told she looked like her husband's mother.

"I'm sorry," he said, leaning back against the pillows. "You have the same hair color and freckles, but the resemblance doesn't go much further than that."

"I wasn't offended," she said, poking his side. "You said I was pretty."

"You are," he replied instantly. That much was true - she was beautiful, she was radiant, and sometimes he felt like he was looking at a living painting.

"So I've heard," she replied. "Do you really not remember any of this?"

"Now that you say it I do," he said. "It feels halfway like a dream, to be honest."

"Oh," she said. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he replied, rolling onto his side to look at her the same way she was looking at him.

"What happened to your parents?" she asked. "Earlier, you said that they were dead...but I don't think that's the whole story."

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd known eventually this was bound to come out in the open, but it wasn't something he liked to think about. He'd never told anyone this story, not even his first wife, not even his son.

"My father was not a kind man," he said at last, deciding that was the best place to start. "He would drink, and he would fight...and then he would come home and hit my mother or me. If it was a particularly bad night, he'd...demand marital rights."

Belle let out a gasp of shock and he could see the tension in her shoulders at his words. They both knew that was precisely the life she would have had to look forward to at Nottingham's hands, and neither one wanted to say it out loud.

"I was just a little boy at the time," he continued. "But I remember how much lighter everything felt the times when he would leave. She tried to put on a brave front, but she was happier when he was gone and we both knew it. It was never more than a month or two at a time, though. Never long enough for her to carry any other children, at any rate - or at least not to term. To this day I don't know how I made it. He'd always blame her, too. As though she were the one…" he couldn't finish that thought, it was far too dark. "At any rate, it was worse as I got older, and it was so hard to be there anymore that I just started working whatever odd jobs I could find. One day, I came home and she was dead. I still don't know what happened. She was just laying in bed and he was sitting at the table drinking and I remember thinking how easy it would be to pick up a kitchen knife and kill him myself. Instead, I ran and got help. The constable came and took my father away, and I was sent to live with my aunts in the country. The last time I saw my father, he was swinging at the end of a noose."

Belle was looking at him with a soft expression on her face, and he could see the tears shimmering in her eyes. He was surprised at how little it affected him anymore to think about. He had been living under that secret for his entire life, and now it was out and he felt lighter.

"Thank you," she said, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. "For telling me, and for everything else."

"You don't owe me anything," he replied. "Nothing I've ever done for you was for purely altruistic reasons."

"No?" she said. "You don't think so?"

"It wasn't," he admitted. "I married you because I met Nottingham and he reminded me too much of my father to want him to be happy. It was an exercise in vengeance."

"And then you gave me a home," she replied. "You've been a wonderful husband."

It was so easy to believe her, no matter what the truth of the matter was.

"Can I touch you?" she asked, and when he nodded she reached out and cupped his face in her hands. He loved when she would do that, when she would reach for him and trail her fingertips across his skin as though she was fascinated with what she saw.

They didn't speak for a long time, but then Rhys wasn't sure what difference words would even make. She had all the information he could give her, this one last secret.

"Does Neal know?" she finally said.

"No," Rhys replied. "I've never told anybody else."

"He deserves to know the truth," she said softly. "He deserves to know you."

"He knows all he needs to," he said. "What purpose can the truth possibly serve besides to make him ashamed?"

"Your mother shouldn't be forgotten," Belle replied instantly. "Have you even spoken her name since she died?"

He hadn't. He'd done his very best to put it all behind him from the day his father died.

"Evanna," he said. "Their names were Evanna and Malcolm Pan."

Belle smiled and kissed his forehead. He'd never have been able to speak of this in the daylight, and he wasn't sure what it was about the nighttime that made words come easier but there was a strange sort of unreality that surrounded all their time together in the dark. They never spoke of sharing a bed, or how they had spent hours laying in that bed touching each other's arms. As far as he could tell, the only one who had even figured out they spent any time together at all at night was Neal. It was like they were leading an entirely separate life after dark.

"My mother's name was Colette," she said after a few moments of silence. "But she died when I was born. I never knew her."

It was a meagre offering, but he drank it up like water in the desert. She was offering him just that little bit more intimacy. Eventually, they both fell back asleep with Belle curled up in his arms. She was a balm to his tortured soul and security in the darkness.

When Belle woke up for the second time, Rhys was still asleep with his bandaged arm weighing heavily on her side. She needed to get back to her room and attend to her necessaries, but he was warm and injured and she didn't want to rouse him or for him to wake and find her gone.

The previous day had been incredibly difficult, but it had been worth it just to have her answers. The mysterious RMP - Rhys Malcolm Pan - had been discovered. She had no idea where the name _Gold_ had come from, but she couldn't blame her husband at all for wanting to lose all association with his father. She couldn't imagine what he must have witnessed as a child, or the strength it must have taken to become the man he was now. If anything, knowing all that only made her think more highly of him.

He had been incredibly open with her, far more so than she had ever expected, and that thought warmed her from the inside out. He trusted her, or he'd never have admitted to any of that, and that thought more than anything else made her heart tingle and her spirit feel lighter. Was this what love felt like - real love? The kind that they put in storybooks and fairy tales? She'd never been in love, and she didn't know who she could even ask. There was a part of her that felt like she could fly, and a part of her that wanted to cry for how much she wanted to never be apart from him. It was terrifying, but strangely comforting as well - if she loved Rhys, then there was no reason to be afraid anymore. She could love him and he could love her, and they could perhaps have the kind of life that had always seemed out of her reach.

Somehow, the idea that he might not love her wasn't even a factor. She hadn't ever thought she'd ever _be_ in love and she could almost giggle with the sheer relief she felt at having a name to her emotions. It didn't matter if he loved her or not, he'd come around and they'd be blissfully, ridiculously happy.

Belle was struck with the sudden urge to wake him up and tell him what she'd just realized, but that seemed a little much. She still wasn't entirely sure that what she was feeling was really love. He might know, but asking her husband if she loved him was just a little bit off of being a good idea. It had to be love, because the moment she'd thought the word up her heart had felt right for the first time in weeks. She was full to bursting with this exciting new idea, and she almost missed the moment he woke up.

"Good morning," she said, and the warm smile he replied with made her heart ache with how happy she was. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," he replied. "My head is feeling much better, although my wrist still hurts."

"I can give you more laudanum if you like."

"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "It's bearable, and I'd rather have a clear head if at all possible."

"Okay," she said. "Just tell me if you want more, though. I'd hate for you to be suffering."

"It's more of a dull ache than pain right now," he explained. "Entirely bearable, just annoying."

She smiled at him as sweetly as she dared, wishing he'd ask her why she was so happy because she couldn't think of any way to introduce the fact that she loved him as a topic of conversation.

The sun was high in the sky by now, and Belle reluctantly sat up.

"We should probably get up," she said. "I need a new dress and you need to eat something."

"We should," he replied, sounding almost as reluctant as she felt. It had been a beautiful night together, even as injured as he was. She never really wanted to see it end.

"I uh, I may need you to help me back into my clothes," she admitted, glancing over to where her corset, dress, and stockings were sitting on a chair. She'd stripped them off without thinking, but there was no way she was going to be able to get them back on by herself.

"Oh," he said, seemingly unsure of where to look. "I don't know how much help I can be with my wrist."

"We'll figure it out," she said. "I don't need to be perfect, just clothed well enough to make it to my room so I can call for Lizzie."

"Right," he replied. "I'll do what I can."

It was an interesting trick trying to get her back into a corset when he only had one hand, but somehow they managed for the most part. She was perhaps laced in a little looser than usual, but even with her shoes and stockings in her hands she was decent enough to brave the halls.

"I'll send someone up with a tray," she promised. "And if you like, I can come back after. To read to you?"

"I'd like that," he replied, quirking his lips into a little half-smile that she itched to kiss.

On a lark she got on tiptoes and pressed her lips quickly against his before letting herself out of the room.

Rhys didn't think he'd ever stop being shocked when she kissed him. He was absolutely hopeless, he decided as he stumbled back into bed. His cane was damn near impossible with the broken wrist, which meant he was going to be practically bedridden for six weeks. This was going to be an exercise in self-control. He was already feeling the confinement wearing on his patience and it had been less than twenty-four hours.

Jefferson came in not too long after Belle left, thank goodness. The valet had a tray of something that smelled good and Rhys was reminded that he hadn't had anything but laudanum since lunch the previous day.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jefferson said in an overly chipper voice. "Did you sleep well?"

"If you're going to talk then can you get me the damned laudanum?" Rhys replied. "My wrist is killing me and I'm starving."

"Manners!" Jefferson mock scolded, setting the tray down next to the bed and going to where Belle had left the bottle of medicine. "Didn't you think to ask your wife for any before she left this morning?"

"How do you know about that?" Rhys snapped, reaching for the plate of meat and cheese Jefferson had brought up.

"Please," Jefferson replied, rolling his eyes. "You honestly think Lizzie can't tell the difference between a corset she laced and one laced by a man with one arm? And you're supposed to be clever."

Rhys groaned, but accepted the laudanum water. His wrist hurt like the devil, but he hadn't wanted to worry Belle with it or make her feel worse so he'd soldiered through. Hopefully it stopped hurting so badly once it had time to set (and it already felt better just being immobilized).

"So who knows now?" he asked Jefferson, his temper a lot more even once he had some food in his stomach.

"Just Lizzie and myself," Jefferson replied, dropping down into Belle's chair and sprawling a little bit. "When she started working with the missus I told her to tell me first if anything strange happened, and apparently this seemed strange to her. She's under strict instructions not to tell anyone else. So don't worry, your secret liaisons with _your wife_ remain just that - secret."

"It's not like that," Rhys grumbled, trying very hard to maintain some decorum in the face of near starvation, incredible pain, and Jefferson. "She felt guilty and spent the night to make sure I didn't die."

"Oh I believe you," he replied. "But at the same time, you've been spending a lot of mornings not in your room. So I'm left wondering where you've been."

Rhys let out a loud groan and stared at the canopy of his bed for a moment before he finally spoke again.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing," Jefferson said with a shrug. "Just to see the look on your face when I said that."

"Remind me why I haven't fired you again?"

"Because," Jefferson replied cheekily, leaping to his feet. "Your wife is incredibly attached to my daughter."

Jefferson winked and dodged the pillow Rhys threw at him expertly, then he moved around the room gathering the shaving things.

"If I have you killed we can adopt Grace!" Rhys yelled after him, but Jefferson just chuckled and went about his business.

"Do you want me to shave you?" Jefferson asked. "Or does your wife prefer a man with whiskers?"

Rhys grumbled about it, but eventually he was sitting in the chair letting Jefferson make him presentable. He'd never admit to how good a job Jefferson did, but the other man at least kept things interesting. It probably helped his affection for his valet that the medication had begun to take effect at that point, though.

"So things are going well with your wife?" Jefferson asked once Rhys was fairly cleaned up, and this time his voice had lost its teasing note.

"Why do you ask?" Rhys replied before answering. As a general rule, their relationship didn't include these sorts of conversations.

"Grace like her, too," Jefferson said simply. "I'd hate to think she was unhappy."

"I didn't know you cared," Rhys replied, relishing this little bit emotional leverage on the other man - a rarity for their relationship. "But don't worry yourself, she's been happy enough lately."

"Good," Jefferson said, gathering Rhys' dishes back onto the tray. "Are you planning to tell her you're still in pain, or were you just going to keep secretly taking the medicine when she's not looking? Because if she's going to be spending the night here more often, you're going to be in a _lot_ of pain for a few days."

"That's more my business than yours," Rhys replied.

"So that's a 'no' then," Jefferson said, raising his eyebrows teasingly. "I'll tell her you're ready for visitors."

He wasn't even really taking much of the laudanum. It was just a few drops in water, just enough to take the edge off. He was barely feeling any effects at all - the concussion had made him more light headed than the medicine did. He mostly just felt happy, which was hardly a bad thing, especially when Belle was in and out. It felt like Jefferson had only just left when Belle returned, this time wearing a simple day dress with a book under her arm. There was a beatific smile on her face that made him feel like he was floating. Why even bother with the laudanum when Belle was so much more potent?

"Hello," she said, coming to sit in the chair Jefferson had vacated earlier. "I thought I might read to you, unless there's something else you'd like to do?"

Well, actually there were a lot of things he'd prefer to do, but he was fairly certain that was the laudanum and not him. Perhaps the medicine had been a poor decision, because his head had a pleasant fuzzy feeling now.

"I'd like that," he said at last, forcing himself to stay seated and focused on her voice and her lips. He had no idea what she was reading, just that it was beautiful and she was here and that was going to be enough.

Ruby Lucas was great fun on a ride, though Gaston couldn't imagine a situation in which she wouldn't be enjoyable company. She didn't hold the horse back; she pushed herself into a gallop in the open fields and jump low fences. He wasn't quite sure how she managed in a side saddle, but it was impressive as hell and he was more sure than ever that he had to at least try to pursue her. After all, the worst she could do was politely decline and then he'd be in exactly the same situation as he was before - and he had always so enjoyed a hunt.

She was also quite stunning in a red velvet riding habit. She certainly knew how to pick a theme and stick to it.

"We should probably head back," she said after an hour or so of riding. "I have to check my telegrams."

"Are you expecting a message?" he asked, giving the horse its head back to the house.

"Not a particular one, no," she replied. "But there's always something to do with the company, and sometimes I swear these men can't decide on a tie without consulting me."

"What company?" he asked her quickly. This was the first he'd heard of her being involved with _any_ company. To be honest, he'd completely neglected to ask after her economic prospects at all. For all he knew, she was a penniless spinster living on the charity of relatives.

"The steel mill," she replied, glancing at him curiously. "You know, Lucas Steel. It came to me after my parents died."

He'd heard _of_ Lucas Steel when he'd arrived in the country - it felt like men couldn't help discussing investments over here, and Lucas Steel was considered to be a fairly safe bet. He just somehow hadn't connected this steel company to the woman perched on a horse in front of him.

"You own Lucas Steel," he said dully, and she pulled her horse up short to openly gawk at him.

"Yes," she replied. "You didn't know?"

"No," he said honestly, trying hard to figure out exactly what to say to her to make up for this total lapse. "You mean you run the company yourself?"

"Well, I'm not exactly on the production floor," she said. "But I approve all the major decisions and act as the president."

He could have fainted from the shock of it all. He'd thought she was a debutante with a broken heart and family money - he'd only been vaguely aware that her parents were dead. Somehow, he had somehow completely missed the fact that she was sole heir to a major steel corporation.

"You really didn't know," she said after he didn't respond right away.

"I didn't," he admitted.

He was horrified to tell her that - he'd had no idea who the hell she was, really, and had decided to pursue her without actually looking into who she was. How could he possibly explain any of that, though?

"Oh," she said, the shocked expression on her face slowly being replaced by a warm smile. "I just thought...well, never mind what I thought."

She wasn't upset. Gaston had no idea _why _she wasn't upset, because it had been a ridiculous oversight on his part. There wasn't any sensible reason for him to have pursued her without having at least some idea of who she was.

"Come on," she said, when he didn't say anything for a little while. "We need to get back."

"We do," he said apologetically, bringing his horse up beside hers. "So tell me about your business."

"Sadly, it's far less interesting than you might believe," she replied. "I spend my days going over account books and dealing with a group of adult men who squabble like schoolgirls."

"You strike me as the sort who knows how to handle squabbing men," he said. "Or school girls, for that matter."

She chuckled lightly.

"I've certainly become accustomed to it," she said lightly. "It's taken some practice but it's paid off."

Their ride continued in amicable conversation, and they parted ways before he truly wanted to stop talking to her. That was a good sign, wasn't it? That he didn't want to stop talking to her?

By the end of the first week, Rhys wasn't really in any pain anymore and Belle couldn't be happier. Neal had waited until his father was feeling better to return home, but eventually his trip couldn't be extended any longer. Rhys had made it downstairs to see his son off, though it was a struggle for him to go very far at all and he had relied on Belle to help him maneuver far more than she thought he was truly happy about. Afterward, he had collapsed into the chair in his study to go over correspondence comfortably and Belle had taken a much needed walk with the dog.

While Belle had been fixated on looking after her husband, care of the puppy had largely fallen to Grace, who had taken on this new job with aplomb - right down to letting Rose spend the night in her bed. It had been days since Belle had even had time to go into the garden. Not that Rhys kept her intentionally, but she hated to think of him trapped in the room by himself all day, so she had been spending as much time with him as she could. They were going to need to figure out some way for him to walk without the cane or to be able to lean on it without his wrist hurting, because she wasn't sure five more weeks of being confined to bed was going to do much besides drive him absolutely to the point of madness. He already seemed to be seconds away from peeling the wallpaper off just for lack of anything better to do, and she was desperate to help him in any way she could.

The London doctor who had originally seen Belle after she had been ruined had diagnosed her with hysteria, and when she didn't immediately recover he had recommended she be confined to her room and have all her books and embroideries taken away so as not to overstimulate her. He'd told her father she needed quiet and calm in order to settle her nerves and make her more docile. She was allowed two hours of mental stimulation a day, and those hours were the only time she had felt human for the entire ordeal.

She honestly didn't know how long that treatment had lasted, though it couldn't have been longer than a few weeks. It had felt as though her sanity was being forcibly stripped from her at the time, as she sat in the room and watched the people outside her window go about their lives. She would make up names and stories for them and she was sure that was the only way she had kept herself from completely losing her mind. Once her confinement was lifted, though, she'd learned just how far she'd fallen. People would cross the street to avoid her and women she had called her friends now wanted nothing to do with her. It had been a dark place, and she still blamed the lingering effects as having been the catalyst that led to her attempt on her own life.

After she had failed to kill herself, Dr. Hopper had insisted that she needed plenty of fresh air and no reminders of what had happened, and she had been shipped off to the country as soon as she had been capable of being transported. . Suddenly, distractions had been plentiful, only by then she had been incapable of focusing on them. She would do anything to spare Rhys the same awful sensation of madness, and so she hovered.

They had spent every night since the accident together in his bed, and Belle felt keenly that they were moving towards something new between them. She'd been forced to give up reading the scandalous book, so instead they had been going through books of Hindu poetry that made her toes curl and her heart skip a beat in the lyricism of it all. She had no further doubts in her mind that she loved her husband and wanted to be with him as a wife. She was hindered, of course, in that she had no idea how to even _behave _as a wife, but she had hope that they were off to a good start.

Rose was bounding through the bushes again, and Belle didn't truly have it in her heart to stop the puppy. Let her enjoy her freedom to run and play. There would be time enough for decorum later, when Rose would be a lap dog who couldn't run and spent her time with Belle in the library. Right now, she wanted her to be free and to carry those memories with her if dogs could even remember such things or call them up when they were sad.


	23. Stand and Fall

Neal was born to be in the city. He certainly enjoyed visiting his father for a few weeks at a time, and he was very aware that the ultimate goal of most men in his position was a house in the country with land and tenants, but London called to him. He loved everything about it: the shows and the theatres and the crush of people in the streets. He loved the house he lived in (even if it was technically his father's; the other man never came to it), he loved the parks, he just loved the sheer activity of it all. The smell, perhaps, left something to be desired, but he wouldn't have traded London for the world.

Well, perhaps there were parts of it he would do away with entirely if he had the ability. When his father remarried - rather publicly throwing his lot in with the French family against Nottingham - certain things in London had become less pleasant than before. He didn't go to his social club as much anymore, for one thing. Nottingham was a member, and while he didn't spend much time there, he had friends who did. Most people didn't particular care that Neal's father had married the woman that Nottingham had ruined and apparently planned to marry, but a few took a dimmer view of the whole thing. His father had 'stolen' Belle (despite the fact that as far as Neal could tell she hadn't ever wanted anything to do with Nottingham) and that was a massive upheaval in their worlds and Neal had to be cautious not to become caught up with them or else possibly risk a confrontation.

It was a little strange sometimes, still seeing articles about his father in the gossip pages - though thankfully those had mostly died down. As long as Belle and his father stayed out of London, there wasn't much to talk about - just a lot of letters to the editor. Something about Belle's situation seemed to encourage these people to voice their opinions on the matter. Perhaps it was just the situation itself and any young fallen woman would receive similar treatment, or perhaps it was just that she'd had the audacity to remain in her family home and therefore in view afterward. If she had been cast out and fallen to a life of dissolution then it probably would have been largely forgotten now, something only whispered about in hushed tones as a cautionary tale. Instead, though, she'd survived and for that crime she must be punished.

He'd never had much of a reason to consider fallen women before, but the rather public pillorying of Belle by polite society as a whole struck him as somehow unfair. She wasn't some monster lurking in the shadows, nor was she a succubus luring men to their damnation; she was a woman who had been so scared of him at her wedding that she could barely speak and who seemed to dote on his father with an affection he'd rarely seen in his life. He liked her, and he felt a strange discomfort at the way she (and, by association, he) was being judged.

As a result, Neal had spent more and more time in business and less in social outings since his father's marriage. This wasn't entirely a bad thing, as the business had certainly benefitted from the attention, but he missed his social circle. He missed dinners at the club and being a carefree bachelor.

Still, he wasn't a pariah, by any means, and his friends had drawn him out one evening for a night of cards. They were pretty far into the game (and the night) when Nottingham and a handful of his friends arrived at the gambling hall. Neal cursed his luck silently; he hadn't realized the other man was in town and would have insisted on a less fashionable establishment had he known. So far, there had been no confrontations between the two, and Neal preferred to keep it that way. A careful public position of neutrality had served him well, and despite his liking for Belle, it was for the best not to draw any real attention to her situation. The less attention anyone paid to her, the better.

He tried to make himself more inconspicuous in the hopes of going unnoticed. There were plenty of tables and plenty of rooms, and it was entirely likely that the new arrivals would move on to one of the other places if left to their own devices.

"What's going on?" Neal's friend August said with a fake smile on his face to cover the words. "You look like someone just killed your father."

"Nottingham just walked in," Neal said with an equally fake smile.

"So?" August replied. "He's gone this long without causing a scene, he has no reason to start something now."

"I've managed to _avoid_ him this long," Neal replied. "I don't know what he thinks he has a reason to do."

"Just ignore him," August said, tossing his bet into the pot. "Look, they're sitting at another table."

Neal nodded, secretly breathing a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to face more than the awkwardness of being in the room together. He cast his bet and the hand continued uneventfully. August took the pot, and soon the next hand began. Eventually, Neal lost track of Nottingham's group. He assumed they'd moved on to another room, but when a handful of seats opened up at his table he was surprised to look up and see the chairs suddenly being filled by the three other men.

They were clearly a few hours into their evening already, and fresh from at least one pub. They were loud and boisterous, and Neal was on edge at the sight of them. Even August seemed to have realized the situation had the potential to become very bad and was sitting up just a hair straighter than usual.

"Neal," Nottingham said with a joviality that was, frankly, unearned given their non-existent acquaintanceship. "It's been too long, my good man."

"Right," Neal replied. "How have you been?"

"Very well," Nottingham said. "And how's your family? I heard you have a new mother, but then I've had her, too."

This last was delivered with a licentious lift of his eyebrows and a raucous laughter that had the entire table shocked into silence - except for Nottingham's friends, who began chuckling. Even with Belle's sullied reputation, that was shockingly crude. Neal hadn't in his life heard a woman who wasn't a prostitute spoken of in any similar terms. His options to react were limited; he could call for a duel, he could punch Nottingham, he could let it go, or he could leave. Dueling wasn't legal, fighting likewise would only end with his arrest, and it wasn't something he could just ignore. He stood from the table, tossing his cards into the center and prepared to walk away with his dignity and honor intact, but that of course just egged the bastard on.

"Don't go!" Nottingham continued. "It was just a joke, after all."

"There's really only one joke here," Neal replied as he scooped his remaining chips into his pocket. "And I don't feel like playing with him."

That shut the other group up, and the entire table settled into an eerie silence.

"If I were a lesser man I'd call you out," Nottingham replied sharply, with his voice carrying the edge of a man who wasn't used to being questioned.

"Go ahead," Neal replied. "From what I've heard, I'd be the only one standing on the field when the time came."

It was dangerous to taunt him with a duel on the table. It was largely out of fashion, but still a valid threat and with the jokes that had been made at Nottingham's expense after he had dodged the challenge Belle's cousin had levelled at him there wasn't really any way Nottingham could have backed down from another duel and saved face - there was nobody to offer to marry this time.

The silence continued with all the men glancing back and forth between Neal and Nottingham as the two stared at each other.

"You're not worth it," Nottingham finally said at last. "Killing you would mean going to the continent and that just seems tedious. Besides, I wasn't ever very good at languages."

"I bet," Neal replied, turning on his heel and exiting as calmly as he could with his heart beating hard and the sound of blood in his ears.

"What the hell?" he heard August from behind him, jogging to catch up. "Remind me not to go out alone with you again."

"Sorry," Neal said instantly. "I just cannot deal with that man."

"You don't have to apologize to me," August said, glancing back over his shoulder. "I never liked Nottingham anyway. I was just pretty sure that I was about a minute away from being stuck as your second."

"It wasn't going to come to that," Neal replied. "He's a coward - the kind who doesn't want anyone to know it so he just lashes out at anyone weaker than himself. If I hadn't called his bluff _then_ we were going to have a problem."

"He's not a great enemy to have, you know," August said. "He's too rich and too titled."

"He's not that rich," Neal muttered. He'd seen the evidence himself in his father's office. "Anyway, he's not one of my investors and his friends' fathers hate him. You realize everyone in there with him was a younger son."

"I didn't," August replied. "But then I don't spend nearly as much time with the gentry as you do."

"It's part of my job," Neal said. "I have to know what my investors like. And they hate Nottingham. For every one I lost after my father married Belle, I probably gained another just because they wanted to annoy him. That, of course, doesn't mean that they'd actually invite my father to their homes now, but I doubt he'd go anyway."

"At least nobody takes it out on you," August said. "Could be worse."

"Everybody takes it out on me," Neal replied. "Just because they hate Nottingham as a person doesn't mean they want me around. Reputation is everything in this town."

August didn't seem to have a reply, but Neal hadn't expected one. He didn't blame Belle or his father for the invitations he'd stopped receiving and the friends who had begun avoiding him - he _didn't_. His father had been right, Belle wasn't to blame and Neal was glad for her sake that things had ended well. He just hoped that this all blew over at some point. There had to be another scandal to take everyone's minds off of it at some point or another; he just had to wait it out.

Rhys wasn't sure if he was more bored or frustrated, but he was certainly both in varying measures. He'd never thought of a broken wrist rendering him completely helpless and yet here he was. If it weren't for Belle hovering over him constantly and insisting he at least go sit on the balcony he'd probably have been screaming obscenities at anyone who entered by the second week. He was still fairly short tempered, but she did help take the edge off of things.

He'd moved his office upstairs for the most part. Belle had volunteered her writing desk for his use as long as he couldn't take the stairs easily, and while it felt very strange to be seated at her small desk, he did like that she was comfortable while he worked there. She would be seated with the puppy curled around her ankles and reading through a book of poetry while he replied to letters and double checked ledgers and there was something incredibly indulgent about being able to look up from his work at any time and see her there. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why having your wife around while you worked had never caught on, although perhaps it was because it took him quite a bit longer to get anything done when the alternative was staring at her like a lovesick schoolboy.

At least his gift to Belle was progressing nicely. It was supposed to be a surprise, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep it secret from her. A few more days, perhaps, and he'd be ready to show her. Not yet, though.

"Are you tired?" she asked as he bent his head over one last letter.

"A little," he admitted, turning to look at her - she was watching him the same way he sometimes watched her, and for some reason that soothed him. "I just have one more letter to write, though."

"Take your time," she replied, standing up and coming to stand behind him. "I'm going to get prepared for bed. Will you be all right without me?"

He'd miss her like hell, but it didn't seem worth mentioning when she leaned over and and kissed his cheek gently from behind. He put his letter on the desk, praying she wouldn't look at the words on the page.

"I think I'll survive a half hour on my own," he said lightly. "And I'm sure you wouldn't mind a little time on your own."

"I've had plenty of time on my own," she said. "I'm not trying to get away from you."

He smiled and she brushed her fingertips across the nape of his neck before walking out into the hallway, presumably towards her own rooms. Rhys wasn't quite sure what he'd done to deserve Belle for some reason deciding she wanted to spend time with him. This hadn't been part of his plan for the marriage at all, but he was completely thrilled with the idea of it. She was still having bad days, though since he'd been hurt she seemed to have blossomed a bit. Perhaps it was just that he was completely nonthreatening now, or that she was spending all her available time nearby - or maybe it was unrelated entirely. No matter the cause, Belle was smiling more than she had been before, maybe not as much as she had when he'd first met her but definitely more than she had in ages. He would stop short of saying she was prettier when she smiled, although he would readily admit that there was a lightness about her that made him want to spend the rest of his life looking at her.

There wasn't going to be anymore getting work done that evening, not with Belle deciding she was ready for bed. He set his papers aside for the night, careful to place the ones he didn't want her to see under the others. He should feel guilty for hiding things from his wife, but he knew Belle wouldn't approve of his current plan. More accurately, she wouldn't like that he was involved in it. While what he was doing wasn't illegal, it did involve a bit of dealing with some people who she wouldn't necessarily want him dealing with.

It felt like far too long before she came back in one of her floor length nightgowns and an elaborately embroidered purple silk dressing gown. He could see a flash of pale pink around the collar and he recognized the nightgown as one of his favorites. It wasn't quite as frilly as her others, though it had lace panels at the chest, and it fastened with a little bow at the throat that he found fascinating. She'd also spent some significant time embroidering it with a dusting of little roses here and there on the skirt. He suspected this one had been intended for her honeymoon, and although he hadn't been the intended groom he enjoyed the idea that this particular one had been intended for her to be seen in.

"Are you ready to retire?" she asked him from the doorway.

"I am," he replied, standing up as she came to his side to support him while he walked. As soon as this was all over and he was healed, he'd never take his cane and the somewhat limited freedom it offered for granted again.

Still, though, it was nice to have Belle's hand in his so he could lean against her as he moved, even if it took twice as long to walk to his chamber than it otherwise would have. He changed in his dressing room while Belle settled into the bed. By the time he was ready, she was a pretty picture waiting for him to join her under the blankets. In spite of his rather solitary personality, he rather enjoyed Belle being in his bed. She was soft and warm, and when it was dark she would press herself into his side and spend the next half hour or more with her fingers moving across his skin. Occasionally, she would become bolder and kiss his shoulder or the side of his neck. Once or twice she had even guided his hand to her neck or her waist and then she would lay back and trust him to touch her and learn the feel of her. Rhys would try to mind her boundaries, but on those nights it was easy to forget that she was scared and that he wasn't supposed to love her.

This was going to be one of the nights she encouraged his touch, tracing her fingertips up and down his arms as he tried to delicately touch her collarbone as best he could with his arm in the splint. He dared to drag his thumb across her jawbone, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a soft moan of pleasure. He'd never thought to hear those sorts of noises from his wife and now here he was, eliciting them with a brush of his fingertips.

Rhys wasn't sure if he trusted himself if things went any further between them. He knew that he wouldn't hurt her intentionally, but he also knew how terribly she had already been hurt. Was there any real guarantee that he wouldn't accidentally cause her any pain? So he would continue his gentle ministrations and not press her for more, even as her hair called for him to touch and her lips demanded kisses.

At last, when she was satisfied (or too tired to stay awake) he heard her breath begin to even out and felt her muscles relax in sleep. He stayed awake a few minutes longer perhaps, just tracing the length of her fingers before finally sleep claimed him as well.

He became aware of Belle hovering over him after a little while. It couldn't have been overlong, because it was still dark, but she seemed to glow from some internal light.

"Belle?" he said her name, hoping she would explain what she was doing but instead a finger came across his lips shushing him.

The finger was soon replaced by her lips, which were soft and warm. Her tongue was soon against the seam of his lips and he returned her kiss, savoring the sweetness of her that he'd only barely had time to taste before. She was so light he could barely feel her on top of him and he needed more, but his arms wouldn't move so he was forced to lay there as she touched him all over and he felt himself responding. She broke the kiss and sat up just a little bit and he was desperate for more of her. He leant forward, desperate for just another taste of his wife when he jerked himself awake.

Belle was still next to him, though when he had jerked himself awake he seemed to have startled her into consciousness as well.

"Rhys?" she muttered, her voice heavy with sleep. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he replied instantly. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"I am," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked, laying limply against the pillow with half-lidded eyes.

Well, he'd had a dream but it certainly wasn't _bad._

"No," he said, laying back down on his own pillow. "It wasn't a bad dream."

"Then what's wrong?" she asked curling into him again and for the first time he realized he was still hard.

Rhys had hoped that Belle wouldn't notice, but it seemed he was destined for disappointment. He felt the moment she realized, and she recoiled slightly - pulling her hand off of where it rested on his chest and rolling half away so her body wasn't touching his as much as it had been. He was on the verge of apologizing when he felt her suddenly lean back into him. She wasn't as relaxed as she had been, her muscles were tighter and she practically vibrated with nervous energy, but she was there and her head was on his shoulder and her hand was on his chest. He wanted to comfort her, but wasn't sure what to do besides letting her do what she wanted. Finally, he felt her hand begin to dip lower onto his belly and he gasped at the sensation of fingers on sensitive flesh. She usually focused her attention on his chest, face, and arms when she was exploring. He didn't mind (and hadn't realized how much he could enjoy his face being touched or how sensitive his throat was), but as a result, this caress of fingers on his belly was uncharted territory in their relationship so far and he had no idea at all how to respond.

"Belle?" he whispered, deja vu overcoming him - and for a second he wondered if he were still in the dream. He tightened the arm she was sleeping against around her back just a bit, the sensation of the nightgown sliding across her skin reassuring him that this was real.

She replied by shushing him and relaxing further into his gentle embrace.

"Let me?" she replied, the gentleness in her voice reassuring him that she knew what she was doing this time (or at least had a better idea).

He nodded, and only knew she had seen him in the dim light when her hand moved yet lower again until it was resting on his groin just above his flagging erection, which had seemed to remember itself as her hand crept closer to it and reversed course. It took all of Rhys' self control not to arch his back at the sensation of fabric brushing against him in the darkness as her fingers caressed his flesh - so close, yet not quite close enough.

"I've never touched one," she whispered, and he wasn't sure if she was asking permission or trying to explain her hesitation, but either way her words grounded him just a little bit in the reality of the situation. He couldn't afford to lose control - she was counting on him to have some restraint.

"It's all right," he replied. "Whatever you want to do."

She nodded, barely, just enough to show him she'd heard him and that she wasn't distressed.

Finally, brutally slowly, her hand came to rest on top of his cock and he saw stars for a split second at the sensation of pressure at last. She was careful in her touches, but he didn't think she was fearful. There was a curiosity definitely, but her gentleness didn't feel like fear - there was something else there, certainly, but he couldn't quite place it. Belle squeezed his cock just a little bit and he let out a groan before he could stop himself.

"Does that hurt?" she asked quickly, her hand stilling.

"No," he bit out. "It feels good."

"Oh," she replied, doing it again. "That's good."

It was maddening the way she worked, alternating too soft with just right, but he didn't dare correct her. This was for her, to try to make her comfortable with him and to conquer her fears and not to satisfy his lust. He had to remember that; it was the most important thing.

"Do you like this?" she said after a few more minutes of touching him.

"I do," he replied instantly. "But you can stop if you want."

"Is this how you do it when you're alone?"

His breath hitched. He had _no_ idea how Belle had come upon that particular idea, because ladies were never told of such things, but now that it was in his mind he couldn't get it out. It had been a long, long time since he'd first discovered his own body and he was proud of the mastery over his urges that he'd learned in his adulthood and it had been a long time since he had last indulged in that particular activity. But his thoughts were racing so fast, now that the prospect had been planted in his mind, that all he could do was groan.

"No," he said at last, deciding honesty was the only way to survive this with his sanity intact. "Not exactly."

He had half expected her to draw her hand away and return to sleep, but she surprised him yet again.

"Show me," she said.

He whimpered, taking his good arm from around her and moving it down to where hers rested. Once he had himself in hand, she took her fingers off and sat up, drawing the sheets back so she could see what he was doing. The prospect of doing this with an audience wasn't a particularly enjoyable one, but then no woman had ever seemed quite as interested in it as Belle did. He could see the spark of _something_ in her eye even in the low light given off by the embers still smouldering in the fireplace.

Rhys closed his eyes, trying hard to forget the awkwardness of the situation and to let himself be caught up in the moment. Belle was beautiful, and she was right here and for some reason she _desperately_ wanted to know how he gave himself pleasure and those were the thoughts to focus on - the way her hands had felt on his skin and the warmth in her eyes that could have been lust. He imagined his hand was hers in the darkness, and that her breath (heavy as it was with that unexpected _something_ that he would never have dreamt of) came in his ear and not from a distance of a few feet. He felt his bollocks begin to tighten and he adjusted his grip just enough to stave off his climax for a few seconds more, suddenly needing to draw this out and savor this tentative permission to fantasize about her. To fantasize about his wife who he _did _love, regardless of what he had intended and whether or not it was even reciprocated. There was no sense in denying it anymore, not in the darkness, not while her eyes were focused on him and she was asking for his lust.

He came with a strangled groan, only barely able to cover his cock with the hem of his nightshirt before he spilled himself into the sheets. He was panting and shaking with the after-effects of the orgasm, and Belle was suddenly there with her head back on his shoulder and her fingers resting on the sensitive skin of his belly.

"Thank you," she whispered shyly into his ear.

He felt her press a kiss to his cheek and he just wanted to bury his face in her hair and sob for the relief he felt. He hadn't even realized how tense he'd been until it was gone and all he wanted was more of her and for her to want more of him. Belle's hand moved up to his face again, and her fingers tangled into his hair as though she wanted to hold onto him just that little bit more.

"What does it feel like?" she asked, and he was dragged suddenly back down into the reality that he was lying next to his wife who had never voluntarily been with a man and who in all likelihood had never felt that kind of pleasure.

"It's nearly impossible to describe," he replied honestly. "But I could show you, if you like."

She paused for a second and he felt her fingers still in his hair for a second. This was an exercise in a level of trusted they'd only attempted once before, and he still cursed himself for agreeing to try the last time she had offered. He'd known she wasn't ready, but she had seemed so certain of himself and he had wanted to believe her so desperately and the results had been devastating and not unexpected.

"I don't know," she said at last. "I want to, but I'm afraid."

"I won't do anything you're uncomfortable with," he promised. "I only have to touch you."

She whimpered just a little bit and he turned towards her, gathered her into his arms and held her tightly.

"Tell me if you're ready," he whispered into her hair. "Just say the word and I'm yours, but not a moment before."

"Thank you," she replied, relaxing into his chest. "You're a good husband."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head, and he felt when she began to doze. This was more than he knew how to handle. She was never supposed to want him. It hadn't really occurred to him that she would ever recover to this extent when he'd offered for her. He was beginning to realize that his experience with women like Belle wasn't as thorough as he had thought. His mother had died without ever escaping her husband, and the other ones he had known in his youth had all been prostitutes whose life stories he wasn't privy to. Since then, he hadn't exactly sought out that many fallen women - instead, he supported foundling hospitals and orphanages, hoping that if he could give them a place to leave their children, he might offer them a way to escape. His factories were staffed with women, but opening those jobs up to fallen women would have removed his ability to help anyone at all. Nobody would have invested in the company, and it would have failed miserably.

This marriage was the first time he had done much about his past besides run from it, and he was starting to wonder if perhaps it was finally going to catch up with him now that she had opened the doors.


	24. Even If We Can't Find Heaven

Belle had been feeling better the last few weeks than she had in almost a year, but when she woke the morning after she'd watched Rhys pleasure himself, she could already tell it was going to be a bad day. She wriggled out of his embrace as carefully as she could so as not to wake him, and once she was safely ensconced on the far side of the bed and she could finally breathe around her fear, she started to really hate herself. She wasn't afraid of him. They'd had a beautiful night together and he had respected her boundaries and only touched her when she said she wanted him to and now she was going to be unable to be around him?

It wasn't _fair. _It wasn't fair to either her or Rhys. Rhys would want to hold her after that, and he was reliant on her for his mobility and company while his wrist was broken. He still had another three weeks before he was allowed to take the splint off, and until then she was his only real connection with the outside world. And she didn't _want_ to be so affected by it anymore. She loved her husband; she wanted to be able to spend time around him and to be his wife without worrying about whether or not she would begin panicking if he looked at her. She hated this brokenness, she hated that they both had to be controlled by something someone else had done. It wasn't fair and she was so tired of fighting against it. She hated her weakness, she hated Nottingham, she _hated_.

The tears came hot and angry. They burned her eyes and made her skin itch, but it felt so good to be angry instead of afraid for once in her life so she let herself cry. She was trying not to wake Rhys, but eventually she felt his hand creep over and rest on her shoulder. He didn't push her, or ask her why she was crying, but even just the knowledge that he was awake and had seen her like this and was worried made her even angrier. He shouldn't be suffering because of this. He hadn't even been at the party, hadn't even been in London. She wasn't sure if he'd even ever so much as exchanged a greeting with Nottingham before her and now here he was, watching his wife cry because she had wanted to touch him the night before.

"I'm fine," she said and she felt him recoil a little bit at the snappishness in her voice. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying."

The bed shifted and he moved a little closer to her. She tensed in anticipation of his body coming to rest against hers, but he didn't get that close. Instead, he settled about six inches away from her and brushed her hair away from her face. Her face felt cooler as soon as the strands of hair she hadn't quite noticed were plastered to her face were gone. The tears finally stopped, though it was too soon. She still felt angry and sad, and now she felt hot and sticky and she just wanted to go back to when she had been happy and freenand the world seemed just and nothing hurt.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "It's nothing you did."

She uncovered her face for the first time since he'd woken up and looked at him. She knew her face had to be puffy and red, and the dried tears itched and just made her feel worse than she had before.

"It's nothing you did, either," Rhys replied sadly, climbing out of the bed, and for a moment she felt like crying again because she'd known this rejection must come at some point. Eventually he had to get sick of her problems - any man would, after all. She was ruined. Who could want her?

Belle was staring intently at the canopy above her head when she felt the bed move as Rhys rejoined her. She barely had time to think about what that meant when she felt a wet cloth being pressed into her hand and her tears started up again, only these weren't angry tears this time. She wasn't really sure what kind of tears they were, maybe just relief. Either way, he eventually took the damp handkerchief back and began to wipe her face with it. The first touch of it on her overheated and over-sensitive skin felt lovely. He was so gentle, stroking her cheek with the soft cotton fabric, and she felt like she was going to shatter from how kind he was being.

Once he'd finished wiping away her tears, she felt empty but strangely calm again. She still hated her bad days, and she would never forgive the man who had caused them, but there was a strange sort of peace to be found in her husband's acceptance of it.

"I don't think I'm going to be good company today," she admitted at last. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," he replied. "You've been working yourself sick anyway. You should take a day off."

"But your arm," she said weakly, sitting up and trying to put on a brave face. "You need help."

"There are still servants," he said flippantly. "And it's only one day. I have plenty of work that can keep me occupied."

She didn't want to agree with him, because agreement meant that she had failed. She had wanted to take care of him, because that's what a wife did. If she couldn't take care of a grown man then what hope did she have of caring for a child? She hated the little voice in her head that was still clinging to the hope of children. Hadn't she decided already to make peace with that loss? She wasn't a fool; she knew how children were conceived and that could be entirely beyond her to ever do, and she knew Rhys wouldn't go along with it if she couldn't stay calm about it.

The first time Belle had ever made a choice about her future had been when she chose to marry Rhys. It had been the only time anyone had ever asked her what kind of life she'd like to have, and sometimes she wondered if she'd even have said yes if it hadn't been for the novelty of that. And here he was again, putting her in control and offering her whatever she needed to feel safe and happy. It comforted her and made her feel guilty all over again. She was about to insist she didn't need to take the day by herself when he spoke again.

"Take Grace out," Rhys said with a smirk that told her he thought he had a trump card. "Don't you need new clothes?"

"No," she replied. "I don't."

"Books?"

"I still have plenty."

"Furniture?"

"I don't want to go out!" she snapped, regretting it instantly when she saw the startled look on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to push."

"No," she replied. "I shouldn't have snapped, you're just trying to be kind."

He didn't reply, and she wasn't sure why she'd even shouted, but suddenly she couldn't stop talking about it.

"I'm just so angry," she said. "At you and him and my father and cousin and everybody and I know it's irrational because you didn't have anything to do with it, but I hate everyone all the time, even people I love. And I don't know how to stop hating. And I don't know if I want to stop hating because sometimes it feels like the hate is the only thing keeping me together."

She felt like she was choking on bile as the words spewed out of her, but she couldn't keep them in anymore. It wasn't even something she'd been aware of thinking most of the time, but as she said it she knew it was the truth and the relief of that poison finally being outside of her left her shaking with relief.

It took a long time to bring herself to look over at where her husband was still sitting and watching her. He didn't look angry, and she wasn't sure what that meant. She should apologize and take it all back and explain what she'd meant, but she couldn't. She was still shivering and her heart felt lighter now than it had in months.

"I know, sweetheart," he said, reaching his hand out and setting it on the blanket next to her without touching. "I know the hate. There are times that will be the only thing that keeps you from completely falling apart."

Of course he'd understand; she felt a little ashamed that she hadn't thought of that. Rhys would know how she was feeling better than most people, because he'd been in the same situation - he'd grown up in an even worse one, actually. Somehow, that thought didn't exactly comfort her. She didn't _want _her hurt, but now that she was, she wanted to wallow in it. The idea that it could have been worse was anathema to her.

"I don't want to be like this," she finally whispered. "I didn't _use _to be like this."

He nodded, and his lips twisted into a grimace that she was pretty sure was supposed to be a smile.

"No one chooses to feel this way," he said at last. "And I certainly don't expect you to _not_ be angry."

She nodded, and after a few more moments of silence she finally climbed out of bed and put on her dressing gown. She'd call Jefferson to come help Rhys and then try to figure out _something_ to do to keep herself occupied the rest of the day. She had a lot to think about after this conversation with her husband, and somehow none of it made her feel any better.

Gaston had been in America for nearly two months, and the only woman who'd actually held his interest in that time was Ruby Lucas. He was reaching a point where anything besides an offer of marriage would be considered incredibly poor form, and he'd shown her such preference that he wasn't sure if he'd have much luck with any of his other options. Beyond that, though, if he had to choose a wife she was definitely the one he wanted. She was perfect in all but one respect: she had her own life in New York, and he didn't know if she'd be willing to give it up to go to England.

His life meant that he had to be back home. That was where the estate was and he had tenants whose well-being he would be responsible for at some point. To relocate overseas was a completely unthinkable abdication of his responsibilities to those people and to the title itself. However, he understood that Ruby had her own responsibilities as well - her business depended on her. Normally, he wouldn't have even been concerned about it. If she were like most women, she would jump at the opportunity to marry into a title, but Ruby Lucas was most certainly _not _like any woman he'd ever met in his life. He was fairly certain that giving up the business was going to end up being a reason for her to say no.

The truth of the matter was that if he wanted to marry her, he was going to need to come up with a compromise before he even asked. The problem was, how could he possibly compromise when there was an entire ocean in the way?

Her grandmother seemed cautiously in favor of the match, at least. Mrs. Lucas had been dropping some subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints that she'd prefer it if he were to propose sooner rather than later. Granted, he wasn't sure how much sway the older woman had on her granddaughter's choices, but it was nice to know he had an ally in the matter. He liked that Ruby knew her own mind and made her own choices, but it did make the entire prospect a just that little bit more nerve wracking. How was he even supposed to propose, anyway? The last time had been so simple - they'd both known it was coming and it had merely been a matter of putting on a good show about how much he admired and loved Belle. He _did_ admire and love her, but he had come to realize that it was an entirely different feeling to the one he had for Ruby and he had no idea if Ruby even felt the same or if she was humoring him. The first day they'd met, she'd told him she didn't plan to marry. There was no way she could have given him a better warning to not propose than that.

And yet here he was, traipsing through Central Park with her, bright and early in the morning. The fashionable people weren't out and about yet, so he didn't even have an excuse for being there beyond that he simply liked her company and wanted more of it.

"This has always been my favorite time of year," Ruby said, barely looking at him for how fixated she was on the russet colored leaves of early fall.

"Has it?" he replied. "Any particular reason?"

She shrugged, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He loved that she was so engaged and enthralled by the world around her - even something as mundane as the changing of the leaves seemed more special.

"For one thing, the weather is delightful," she said. "Not too hot and not too cold. But I like the changing colors. The way the leaves turn from green to all kinds of oranges and golds and reds. I don't know why, I just find it very relaxing. I also like the smell of it and the crunch of the leaves when you step on them."

"Fair enough," he said. "I'll concede the point. Autumn is the superior season."

"I'm glad you've accepted that," she said, looking at him for the first time. "It will greatly improve you as a person compared to whichever other season you preferred. It was probably summer, wasn't it?"

"Not at all," he said, relishing the way her lips quirked in surprise. "I would have said my favorite season is Christmastime."

"Christmastime?" she parroted. "Well now I'm intrigued. I wouldn't have thought you the sort to prefer the cold weather and being homebound."

"See, that's where we differ," he said. "I've always thought of it as being a warm season."

"The weather in England must not be nearly as bad as what we're used to here," she said. "Because for me, Christmas is all snow and ice."

"It's similar at home," he replied. "But that's only when you're outside. When you're _inside_, though, the fires are all kept up all the time so it's plenty warm - especially in that moment when you first come in from the cold and you feel absolutely frozen and then you step into a warm parlor and your fingers thaw and your cheeks warm and it feels strangely safe. Like it doesn't matter what happens outside because you're warm and with people who you love. Plus the smell of cinnamon and pine from all the decorations and then the food. Oh my goodness, you've never eaten until you've had a Christmas dinner at my home."

"Well, now you've halfway changed my mind," she said. "But then, your Christmases sound much different than mine."

"They don't have to be," he said flippantly, hardly realizing what he was saying until it was out.

Ruby turned to him with shock in her eyes, and she looked like a vision standing there with the falling leaves fluttering through the air around her. One of them had caught in her hair without either of them noticing, and he had the strongest urge to reach out and take it out - and he knew then that it was too late to back out now.

"Marry me," he continued. "Marry me and come back and we can have the same Christmas."

She still seemed startled and she didn't answer him right away.

"I know I should say more," he continued even though he shouldn't keep talking. "I'm supposed to make my case and explain why I think it's a good match, but I don't think I can say anything to convince you in either direction. So...will you marry me?"

He hadn't expected her to fling herself into his arms in tears or anything like that, but he also hadn't quite expected the sad smile that preceded her looking away.

"I'd wondered if you were going to ask," she said. "But you know what my answer has to be."

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have asked.".

"I can't leave," she replied. "And you can't stay here. So my answer has to be no."

"Surely there must be some compromise," he said. "We can work something out."

"How?" she asked him, beginning to walk again. "I can't just pop over to England for the weekend."

"So then we won't," he said, following her. "We spend summers in New York and winters in England. It's wet and drafty, but the leaves are beautiful. You'll love it."

She still didn't look convinced, but she seemed to be wavering.

"It's not that simple," she said.

"Why not?" he asked her. "There are telegrams now and we can find someone you'll trust with the day-to-day business of the steel company and there are stewards already at home."

"This is silly," she said quickly. "I'm too old to believe in fairy tales, and so are you."

"I'm not offering you a fairy tale," he replied. "I'm asking you for a compromise."

"You're asking for my heart," she shot back. "I've been there before, you know."

"I know," he said. "And I don't expect anything from you. I like you, though. I think you have a lot to offer, but I think I have a lot to offer you as well. Just give me the chance."

She seemed to consider him for a moment, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat as she turned grey-green eyes on him and sized him up for a moment that felt like an eternity.

"Okay," she said finally, a smile beginning to tug the corner of her lips up. "Let's give it a try."

It took a second for him to realize what she'd said, and then all at once it hit him and he couldn't control the happy laugh that escaped him. She'd actually said _yes_.

Belle hadn't been sure she would even be sleeping in the same bed as her husband that night until nightfall came and she was standing at the foot of his bed in her nightgown. She'd been afraid he'd call attention to her level of upset that morning, but he didn't. He just went about his own routine and joined her in his bed. Sleep came slowly, but it did come eventually and she woke up the next morning feeling so much better, but also a little embarrassed about how she'd felt the day before. It felt so ridiculous, and she knew that she hadn't had any reason to be so upset - it was hard to remember that in the heat of the moment.

That whole day went better than the one before. Her mood was lighter, and she was able to return to her routine that day and then the next as well. She didn't touch him, though, nor did she ask him to touch himself again. She wasn't sure how to broach the subject again, and she was scared to try if she was being honest.

Still, no matter her fear, by the third day Belle was becoming desperate for his touch again, though. She missed the warm feeling she got from touching him, and she missed the connection to another human being. She'd never been closer to another person than she was to Rhys, and it was the loss of that feeling that ultimately drove her back into his arms the third night.

Laying there in the middle of the night and feeling his fingers on her arms - so delicate and so loving - that finally her courage got the best of her.

"What did you mean the other night?" she whispered into the darkness.

"What did I say?" he asked her, stroking his fingers along the length of hers.

"When you touched yourself for me," she replied. "And said you could show me what it felt like."

"Oh," his voice took on an odd quality as he took in the meaning of her words. "I meant that I could touch you the same way."

"Could you do it now?"

She heard him hiss at the question, but his head was pressed against hers and she felt him nod.

"You'll tell me to stop the second you feel uncomfortable?" he whispered.

"I will," she promised. She didn't want to need to make that promise, but she knew why he'd asked her to make it.

"May I touch you?" he asked, letting his breath ghost over her neck and sending shivers down her spine.

"Yes," she gasped.

"Is there anyplace you don't want me?"

"No," she said instantly. "I know you won't hurt me."

He nodded again, and then his good hand was moving up and down her arm and she tried to focus on that, on the way his fingers made her skin tingle wherever they touched her. After a few more moments his hand moved to brush his fingertips across her breasts. It was just the slightest touch through the cotton of her nightgown, but he'd never touched her there - no one had ever touched her there so gently and she had expected that it would bring the memories flooding back, but instead she just felt the shock of awareness that her _husband_ was touching her so intimately. His hand then travelled down to her waist and he dragged his fingers up and down her side to her hips and then back up to her breasts and there was that warm buzzing feeling again. It was intoxicating and she felt lightheaded and giddy, as though she'd had a bit too much champagne.

"Pull your nightgown up for me, love," he whispered and she did as he asked, arching her back and bunching up the fabric underneath her hips. Doing this part herself helped keep her grounded and served as another reminder that he wasn't going to hurt her. If Rhys had any faults as a husband, it had always been that he was too gentle with her. He'd never hurt her, and she needed to focus on that.

Once she was exposed, the scariest part was over. From here, she could close her eyes and let it happen. She just had to remain calm, that was the most important part.

His fingers ghosted across her, but then instead of touching her firmer he sat up and tossed the blankets aside before moving down the bed.

"Scoot up a bit," he whispered.

Belle had no idea what was going on, but she would trust him if that's what it took, so she moved up the bed until her shoulders were propped up on the pillows and her head was against the headboard. Rhys put his hands under her knees, propping them up and pulling them apart and she resisted the urge to clamp her legs back together. She had asked for this, she could stop it whenever she wanted, and she was curious about what he'd offered.

It felt strangely disconnected with him so far away from her, but it was so far removed from her experiences before that it made it easier to forget and to focus on what he was doing. His left hand was massaging her inner thigh gently and she felt so lost, now. She was aching for him to do _more_ and to touch her and she wasn't sure why or how, she just wanted more from him. Rhys shifted a bit and she became aware of his arms snaking under her bent knees to loop around her hips. She felt his breath on her mound all of a sudden and it shocked her.

Belle gave an embarrassing yelp of surprise, and he stilled immediately.

"Belle?" Rhys' voice drifted up to her from below. "Stay with me, sweetheart."

"I'm okay," she replied instantly. "You just startled me."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she said. "I trust you. I was just surprised."

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he reminded her.

"I will," she promised. "But I don't want you to yet."

He didn't reply; instead he blew a stream of air onto her and she shivered at the sweet sensation of it. This was entirely new and she liked it. She almost jumped out of her skin again when she felt the flat of his tongue against her but she settled down immediately when his lips came around something and bursts of light lit up in her eyes. Nobody had ever told her that there were parts of her that would feel like that, and it struck her as abominably unfair that he had known of this place on her body that nobody had ever told her of. He kept his hands on her hips, and she was grateful for that because it meant that her squirming in pleasure didn't dislodge him from what he was doing. His mouth had moved now, and she had no idea exactly what he was doing just that the warm, fuzzy feeling was quickly reaching a fever pitch. She hadn't ever known she could feel like that.

Rhys' tongue was moving at her entrance and she heard herself whimpering because what he was doing just felt so damn good. Her breath was coming faster and suddenly it felt like she was having one of her episodes. She was losing control - and that's what ultimately had her telling him to stop.

Her husband was disentangled from her immediately, and then she had her head against his chest and she was trying to force her breathing to settle into a normal level. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her body was screaming at her to let him finish what he started, but she just couldn't. If he'd gone on longer she didn't know what would happen, and she was scared to let him make her lose control like that.

"Hush, sweetheart," Rhys cooed into her hair. "I'm here. It's okay. It's all okay."

Belle nodded, willing herself to believe him because there was no reason for him to lie to her. The madness that she'd felt when he was touching her had settled some and she just felt empty and unfulfilled. She didn't know what she wanted, she just knew she _wanted_ something else. She wanted him to start again and she wanted to go over that precipice she'd felt. She wanted to be able to lose control, but she was terrified to do so. Control had been taken from her, and it had been a struggle to regain it. How could she really trust herself to recover again if she lost herself?

At least she didn't have to explain it to Rhys. Somehow, he seemed to understand what she needed and he just wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back softly up and down until she finally relaxed enough for sleep to come for her.

"Thank you," she mumbled drowsily. "It felt nice."

"I'm glad you liked it," he replied.

"Can we try again tomorrow?" she asked before she could second-guess herself. She wanted to try, she wanted to learn to lose herself. She wanted to see how far she could go, and this was the only way she could think of to do that.

"If you feel up to it," he replied. "Take your time, sweetheart. We have all the time in the world, and you don't have to prove anything to me."

Well, no, but she had something to prove to _herself;_ she wanted to conquer this last fear. She didn't say it, though, because she knew what he would say. He'd tell her she was being unreasonable with herself, and she knew she was but that didn't mean she wanted to admit it yet. So instead, she snuggled further into his chest and let him soothe her to sleep.

Belle woke the next morning feeling better than she had in ages. She'd confronted the thing she feared the most, and she'd enjoyed it. Perhaps she'd panicked by the end and they hadn't been able to complete the act, but she'd tried and ultimately, wasn't that the important part? She felt nothing like the morning after she'd watched him touch himself. Instead she felt alive and stronger than before. This wouldn't be a bad day, and she was filled with something that felt suspiciously like hope at this newest progress.

She could do this, and she would do it with her husband.


	25. My Marks and Scars I Carry With Me

All things considered, Rhys was fairly certain it could have gone worse. He'd been half convinced that Belle would react the same way she'd reacted every other time they'd tried intimacies and withdraw afterwards, but instead she'd woken and wanted to be held for a little while before they began their day. He was once again in her library checking his correspondence, though without Belle, who had gone for a walk with the dog and Grace.

"You have a visitor," Jefferson said from the door. "It's your father-in-law. I put him in the green drawing room."

"What's he doing here?" Rhys asked, bracing himself on the chair to stand.

Not that he was trying to keep Belle from her father, but Maurice French never seemed quite comfortable with the idea of Belle's marriage and hadn't visited more than a handful of times since.

"He said he had important news," Jefferson said with a shrug. "Do you want your cane?"

Rhys considered his options. It had been close to a month since his injury, but he was still relying mostly on Belle to help him from room to room (though that was at least partially because he liked having her around). He had no idea when Belle would be returning, though, and they couldn't exactly leave her father downstairs by himself all day.

"Bring the cane," he said to Jefferson. "And then make sure Astrid took him tea."

Jefferson nodded and vanished into the hallway for a few moments before returning with Rhys' cane in hand. It took a few minutes for him to find a position that wasn't unbearably painful, then another ten or so to make his way down the stairs to find Maurice pacing agitatedly around the room.

"If you're going to keep pacing," Rhys said, dropping into a chair and stretching his wrist. "Then let me know now so I can have something brought in to read.."

"Is Belle here?" Maurice asked, sitting on one of the settees.

"She's out with her maid," Rhys replied. "She should be back soon. Is something wrong?"

"No," Maurice said. "But there's news."

"Oh?"

"Gaston is engaged," Maurice said. "He's bringing his fiancee home in two weeks for the wedding."

Rhys took a moment to process this news. He didn't know what Belle's feelings on the matter would be; it hadn't been something they had discussed in any depth and he honestly wasn't sure he really wanted to know her opinion one way or the other.

"What do you know about her?" Rhys asked.

"Gaston seems taken," Maurice replied. "Her name is Ruby Lucas, and she owns a steel company. That's about it. How do you think Belle is going to react?"

Truthfully, Rhys wasn't sure. She surprised him sometimes with how resilient she could be, but there was still a fragility in her that scared him. She didn't talk about her cousin, and he'd never asked about him.

"I'm not sure," Rhys said at last. "She's been doing better, but there are still bad days. It's hard to say."

Maurice nodded, still fidgeting in his agitation.

"She'll understand," he said at last. "Belle's a good girl. She has to understand. He has to secure the line."

Rhys wasn't entirely sure what Belle 'had to' understand, but he certainly couldn't blame Maurice for clinging to his hope. At least Belle had definitely known this was coming. There was never any doubt that her cousin would have to marry. It was simply a matter of time as to how long it would take Gaston to select a bride and arrange to bring her back home.

Maurice looked like he was about to say something, but Rose bounced into the room suddenly, followed closely by Belle.

"Papa," she said cheerfully, pulling her gloves off and embracing her father when he stood. "I just got home and they told me you were here!"

She seemed to be in a good mood, and Rhys wasn't sure if he was glad because it meant that she might be buoyed by her already high spirits or if he was sorry they might be spoiling her good mood. Belle and her father exchanged pleasantries, and she eventually took a seat in the chair next to Rhys.

"So, Papa," she said to her father as she mixed sugar into her tea. "What brings you to our home?"

Rhys didn't miss the use of the word 'home' and from the looks of things, neither did her father. Maurice glanced over to Rhys so quickly that he almost missed it. Rhys had the distinct feeling that Maurice had some regrets about the whole situation. Belle obviously had picked up on at least some of her father's discomfort, but she also seemed to take some mild offense to it - or at least enough offense to want to go out of her way to show him she was happy. If nothing else, Rhys was going to carry the knowledge that she was happy with him.

"Your cousin has sent news," Maurice said with an incredibly forced smile on his face. "He's coming home."

"He found a wife?" she said evenly. "How lovely."

Rhys could see the tension in her hands as she spoke, and it was all he could do to keep himself from putting his hand on hers and offering her some support.

"He did," Maurice confirmed. "They'll be home soon and the wedding is in two weeks."

"Am I invited?" she asked and Rhys almost missed the bitterness in her voice.

"Of course, sweeting," her father said instantly. "If you'd like to come. Your husband too, of course."

Belle nodded and took a sip of her tea.

"Be sure to let us know the details," Rhys said at last. "And we'll try to be there if it's possible. It is very last minute."

Belle looked at him gratefully, and he knew she'd been looking for a polite way to say she didn't want to go. She was his wife and he would protect her as long as he could.

Maurice looked at Rhys with surprise in his eyes, then back at Belle quickly.

"Of course," Maurice said, apparently recognizing what was going on and switching back to small talk with his daughter.

Maurice only lingered about a quarter of an hour, and when he left, Belle remained in the parlour sipping tea quietly for a little while more. Rhys knew he should say something to her - either to bring up the upcoming marriage and ask her feeling on the matter or find something to say that might distract her from the news. He couldn't think of what to say, though, so he said nothing. He simply sat with her until the tea got cold and the dog ran off to find someone more interesting to play with.

Belle was going to be replaced. It was strange to think of it that way, because she'd already married and was happy with her husband, but this new girl was going to be her replacement. She had known it was coming, but it still hurt that she'd been cast aside. She had the overwhelming urge to throw herself at her husband like she had when she'd found out he was worried about her inability to be around his son. It would be another way to prove she was happy in her marriage, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. She was _happy_ with Rhys; happier than she'd been with Gaston. She just...she wanted people to understand that and stop pitying her. She also wanted her home back. It hadn't been a lie to tell her father this was her home, but she missed where she had grown up and she missed being able to walk into any home in the country and find a welcome.

"Have you ever met an American?" she asked her husband after a little while.

"For business," he replied, looking at her curiously. "Why?"

"I've never really spent much time with any," she said as calmly as she could. "My friends and I never spent much time with the dollar princesses."

"Oh?"

"They're not our sort of people," she said bitterly, glancing up at him and then suddenly remembering her new place in society. "Or at least they weren't mine."

Apparently now she'd been replaced by one. It was the final slap in the face of the entire situation. Belle had been raised in that house and now another woman would be taking her place - a woman she had been taught to dislike. Another woman's children would grow up in the house Belle had been told her children would grow up in and that _her_ son was supposed to inherit.

Belle wasn't even sure she'd ever have any children anymore.

"Do you want more children?" she asked him finally, staring into the dregs of her tea so she wouldn't have to make eye contact.

Her husband just about fell out of his chair at her question, setting his teacup down so hard it clattered on the saucer.

"I hadn't thought about it," he said without ever taking his eyes off of her. "Why? Do you want children?"

"I had been considering it," she replied. "Isn't that what people do?"

"It...can be," he said slowly. "But I certainly don't expect anything from you."

"I I think I'd like some," she replied. "At some point."

"Would you?" he asked, his voice cracking a little bit. "I hadn't realized you thought about it."

"I've been thinking about it since I was a child," she said. "I don't think I'd like to be like this forever."

Rhys looked like she'd cornered him with a pistol and she felt bad for it, but she couldn't stop barreling ahead.

"I just want us to be a family," she explained. "A proper family. I love you, and I want to be a mother."

"I...you...you love me?" he said dully.

As fast as her mind was racing, it took Belle a moment to piece together what she'd actually said a moment before, but there it was. She'd not meant to say it like that. She'd wanted to wait for the right moment to tell him. Ideally, it would have been some special occasion and she'd have had some idea whether he felt the same or not. She certainly didn't want to blurt it out over lukewarm tea after a visit from her father.

"I do," she said finally, trying to keep her voice from cracking in her nervousness. "Does that surprise you?"

If she'd hoped for a declaration of his affection - or even an acceptance of hers - she was going to be disappointed. Indeed, if she'd dared to hope for anything other than all the color draining from his face, then it wasn't to be. He stared at her in confusion for a few moments during which her heart seemed to stop and start in little fits. She was fairly certain that she was going to melt into the floorboards.

"_Why?_" he finally said after a few moments. From the shocked look on his face after, she could tell he hadn't entirely meant to say it - but now that he had, there wasn't any way for either of them to ignore it.

"You're my husband," she said almost instantly. "Why wouldn't I love you?"

He was pressing his hands into his thighs hard.

"You shouldn't," he replied. "I never meant for you to."

Belle wasn't sure what to even say to that. He'd never meant for her to love him? Well, she'd never meant to love him, and yet here they were. There was no sense in denying that she loved him, because she did and she wanted to continue to do so.

"Well, I do," she said softly and a thought occurred to her. "It's all right if you don't feel the same. I don't expect you to."

"That's not it," he said, and she couldn't control her smile at that.

Belle reached out to put her hand on his thigh, and he practically fell out of his seat trying to get away from her.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he continued with panic in his voice. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She was about to ask why on Earth he was _apologizing_ for her loving him when he damn near threw himself at the wall and used it to prop himself up so he could leave the room as though he were afraid of her. She briefly considered following him, but the image of chasing him around the house while he limped away from her was too ridiculous to contemplate - so she stayed where she was until she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore.

Either he had fallen on the stairs, in which case she needed to go find him, or he'd found himself a hole to hide from her in and it was safe to retreat to her own little fortress and lick her wounds. The library was empty this time of day; Lizzie would be attending to her regular duties and Grace was probably out on an errand. That left Belle alone to stew in her confusion. She truly didn't understand her husband - she'd thought they were close enough to an understanding. They slept together, spent their days together, he relied on her for his mobility and she'd entrusted him with her body in almost every way. Was it really so unbelievable she might come to love him?

After he'd had a half hour to cool down, Rhys realized he'd acted like a complete fool. He owed Belle an apology and probably an explanation, but he couldn't bring himself to go seek her out yet. For one thing, he had no idea what to tell her. What do you say to a woman after you react to her declaration of love as though she was trying to murder you?

He'd meant to go to her before dinner, but he got sidetracked by returning to his room and then dinner was served (and since his accident they'd been eating upstairs) and it wasn't until she didn't come to his room by the time she usually came to bed that he realized he absolutely had to do something or this was going to become a very real problem. He considered claiming he didn't know where she was (which would at least have let him put off the inevitable) but the reality of the situation was that she was likely either in her library or her bedroom. There weren't many other places she spent any considerable amount of time and the one room was on the way to the other.

Sure enough, she was sitting quietly in her library when he found her with a book cradled on her lap. He liked coming upon her in those moments when she hadn't quite realized he was there. He would become incredibly self-conscious about her looking at him sometimes, but if she didn't know he was around he could just see her and be happy that she was in his life.

When she didn't notice him right away he eventually knocked on the door, drawing her attention up. She smiled briefly, but just as quickly as it had come he saw her struggle to force the corners of her mouth down. His heart broke just a little bit. He'd obviously hurt her, and now he had to make it right.

"I came to apologize," he said by way of greeting. "I acted terribly this afternoon."

"Did you?" she replied with a studied calm, marking her place in her book and setting it aside. "I don't remember that."

He had expected her to be a little angry, but that didn't really make it much easier to handle her (entirely justified) scorn.

"I deserve that," he said. "And you have every right to be upset. You said something wonderful and I could not have reacted worse."

"Why did you react that way, anyway?" she asked him, and he must have flinched because she continued. "If you want me to forgive you, I'd like to know what I did."

He took a deep, bracing breath to steady himself for what must come next.

"It wasn't anything you did," he said, coming to sit near her. "You love me, and that's wonderful. I do love you, too, Belle. My God, how could I not? You're wonderful."

"I don't understand," she said. "Then why were you so upset?"

"Do you remember our agreement before we got married?" he asked her. "The one you asked for when I proposed?"

"I remember everything about that," she said stiffly. "Do you mean about how I didn't think I could be a true wife? Rhys, I changed my mind. I'd like to at least _try_ to have a real marriage."

"I do," he said. "It...I didn't just agree to that for your sake."

"No?"

"No," he shook his head. "I didn't want to ever be in a position to hurt you - any woman, really."

He had no idea how to put this into words. He'd never told anyone about this at all, not even Neal's mother. How do you tell a woman that the idea of penetrating her was terrifying? It was especially bad with Belle, who knew the same fear. Milah had been completely trusting of him, and even later her main complaint with their marriage had been boredom and nothing he'd _done_ \- it had been more of what he'd failed to do, really. It was close to amazing that Neal had even been conceived.

He could manage well enough when it came down to it, and he did enjoy sex. The problem, really, was that he was easily upset by any indication that his partner was in pain or anxious. Early on in his first marriage, every attempt had been utter _hell_ before he realized that certain sounds hadn't been bad signs. He probably even could have gone through with it with Belle the time she'd convinced him to try, but he sincerely doubted he'd have been able to relax long enough to finish. She'd been too nervous, and he'd been far too attuned to her mood. It turned out that had been a good thing, in the end, but he didn't think he'd be able to handle another rejection like that, either.

He was feeling that sick panicky feeling in his stomach again, and he was fighting the urge to run away again as she spoke.

"You're not going to hurt me," she said softly, reaching out and taking his hand. "You've never hurt me."

"You can't be sure of that," he replied around the bile that was rising in his throat. "You hardly know what it would even be like."

"I know enough," she said in a huff. "At the very least, I think I know what it _shouldn't _be like."

He winced a little at the reminder of what she'd been through, she was so innocent still, in spite of everything. He wished he could go back and shoot Nottingham before he had a chance to touch Belle. She could have been spared everything and lived a warm and happy life like she truly deserved, instead of this sham of a marriage with a broken man.

"I'd like to at least try," she said finally. "With you. I want to try _with you_."

"You're not ready," he said weakly more because he didn't have any other idea what to say to change her mind than any real conviction. "You do this when you're upset sometimes, you try to force things."

"That may be true," she replied. "But it doesn't have to always be true. I'm getting better - you know I am - and I don't want to be like this forever. I want to have a normal life someday."

He nodded, but he still wasn't sure what to tell her. He wanted her to have a normal life as well, but it wasn't something he was sure he could do himself.

"We can both be better, you know," she continued. "We can get better together if you'd like."

She was talking about being _better_ as though he had a time before this that he could return to. He had always been this way and he was sure now that it was a part of him as inalienable as the color of his eyes and the way he couldn't stand the taste of tomatoes.

But Belle was looking at him and her eyes were so hopeful and trusting as though she was absolutely certain that there was some part of him that had existed before. She had been raised in love, he'd been raised in anger, and she had no idea that there was any difference between them. He _wanted_ to be a better man for her, but there was suddenly this unbridgeable gulf between them. Perhaps it had been a mistake to marry her. He'd thought he could give her a home - a safe place where she could be free from any demands, and now he was beginning to fear he'd instead trapped her in a marriage that could never be everything she hoped.

He didn't know how to tell her all that, though. How could he even begin to explain it to his wife? Belle thought he was saveable, but there was nothing left of him to save.

He at last became aware of her hand resting on his. She must have put it there while he was lost in his thoughts and the little gesture stung his heart.

"We can try," he said at last, because what else could he say to her? That he was a sad, broken man and that she should give up all hope of fixing him before it was too late?

She smiled at his words, and leaned forward to kiss him again. He savored the sensation of her lips brushing against his as long as the moment lasted. She pulled away after a few seconds, and he felt the loss intensely before remembering himself.

"I brought you a present," he said, reaching into his jacket and removing the roll of papers he'd tied with a ribbon in preparation for the moment he would give it to her.

Belle looked at him curiously, reaching out and accepting the gift from him. It had taken him weeks to assemble this gift. Weeks of writing letters to his solicitor (and one or two to his son), the release of thousands of pounds, and more than a few favors being called in. She flipped through the pages slowly, taking time to read the words.

"I don't understand," she said after a few minutes. "What is all this?"

"It's Nottingham," he replied, and he saw her hands twitch just a little bit at the name on his lips. "Or at least, it's his estate. Every debt he owes, I bought. What you hold in your hands is at least ten years of his annual income, far more than he can afford to repay in one go at any rate."

Her mouth was hanging open a little and she looked back down, flipping through the papers incredibly quick, her eyes scanning the numbers on each one.

"You shouldn't have spent all this money," she exclaimed. "It's not worth it. How did you even _have_ this much money?"

"I didn't pay the full value of any of them," Rhys replied. "Well, maybe the first few. Some of them I traded in favors for, some I paid full value for, but most people sold them to me at a reduction once they realized what his financial state was. They figured it was better to get something before he became insolvent rather than nothing later."

"But why?" she asked him, still holding the collected IOUs, receipts, and bills in her hands like she was afraid to drop them. "This must have cost a fortune. Why did you do it?"

"For one thing, I could afford it," he replied, hoping the smile he had forced onto his face wasn't entirely off putting. "Unlike him, I actually have several sources of income. This can be made up within a year or two. And for another, now you have control over him."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm giving the debts to you," he said. "They're yours to do with as you wish. Every moment he's out gambling and not selling off furniture is by your leave. You can call them in tonight if you'd like, and you would be well within your rights to do so. Or you can hold them as long as you like - he doesn't know that they've been purchased, and even if he went looking for them he'd only land at my solicitor. The important thing is, he's entirely at your mercy and you can do whatever you want with him. I'll support you in whatever you choose."

He'd suspected she would probably cry, but he hadn't quite expected her to fling herself at him, wrap her arms around his neck, and sob into his chest. It was incredibly awkward, since they had both been seated in armchairs, but it was somehow comforting having her curled up halfway on his lap and halfway crammed between himself and the arm of the chair. She was soft and warm and he knew she wasn't crying because she was sad this time and that made it all worthwhile.

"Thank you," she said at last, wiping her cheeks with a handkerchief. "It's the nicest gift anyone's ever given me."

"Am I forgiven, then?" he teased, gently brushing a curl that had fallen loose of its confines behind her ear.

"Of course," she replied, smiling at him and curling her face back into his neck for a little bit longer. It was definitely not the most comfortable he'd ever been in his life, but he'd have spent the night there gladly.

"Will you sleep in my room tonight?" she asked eventually. "I have something I'd like to show you."

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied. "Anything you like."

She smiled at him sweetly and slowly disengaged herself from his lap. He missed her instantly, but she leaned down and kissed his forehead gently.

"Do you need help to your room?" she asked him.

"I managed this far on my own," he replied. "I think I can manage that."

She nodded at him again, and on an impulse he took her hand in both of his and pressed a kiss to it before she could leave his side. There was no sense in lingering too much longer after that, and he made his way back to his room to change into his nightclothes. He wasn't sure what she could possibly want with him in her room, but he would go wherever she wanted him if that's what it took to keep her happy. He'd always wanted her happiness, really. He just wasn't always sure how to go about providing for it. Belle deserved so much better than him, but then she deserved better than she'd gotten out of life to begin with, too. None of it was fair.

Once he was dressed for bed, it took him a few more minutes to make his way down the hall using the wall for support. At least if nothing else came from all of this, he'd learned a new way to get around without hurting his wrist with the cane so Belle could have a bit more freedom. He'd only be in the splint another few weeks anyway. It wouldn't be so bad, once it was all taken care of. He could wait that long.

He'd barely knocked on Belle's door when it swung open and she was standing there in her pink nightgown and a shawl. He was completely dumbfounded. Since they'd begun sharing a bed, he'd seen her in a nightgown many times (and the one time in her shift) but she'd always begun the evening in a dressing gown of some sort. Sometimes it was the pretty purple one, and sometimes it was a green velvet, but he'd never seen her walking around in nothing but a nightgown.

She had her hair tied in a loose braid and draped over her shoulder as well, which also didn't fit her usual routine. She would braid her hair tightly to keep it from tangling in the night; she never left it so loose that strands of it were spilling out around her face a little. She was smiling and barefoot and when she backed up to grant him entry, he felt his heart tighten in his chest.

This was a seduction if he'd ever seen one in his life, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face it. It was perhaps the most innocent looking seduction he'd ever been a part of, because she still wore a shawl around her shoulders to cover her breasts and hadn't even thought to leave the ribbon at her neck untied, but if anything that just made the entire effect more endearing. It did bring a pang to his heart, if the people who had shunned Belle could see his wife - the fallen woman who had apparently tricked him into marriage - at that moment there was absolutely no mistaking her for a practiced seductress. How could anyone ever have taken her as one? She was so on edge that he could practically hear her pulse beating beneath her skin and her smile kept slipping in her nervousness, but dear God she was beautiful.

"Hello," she said in a voice that was probably supposed to sound tempting but she was so nervous her voice cracked a little and she had to clear her throat. "Thank you for coming."

She was the furthest thing from the temptress she'd clearly hoped to imitate, but somehow that just made him even more terrified. He couldn't decline her, but to do anything else was entirely beyond him. Rhys had no idea what he was going to do.


	26. Tipping Point

Belle wasn't afraid anymore. That thought was thrumming through her veins as she led her husband into her bedroom. Something about his confession earlier had triggered this fearlessness inside of her; she was sure more than ever that she wanted to have a true marriage with him and that she _could_ have a true marriage if she wanted. If he was afraid of hurting her, then she would just have to prove to him that she wasn't afraid of him. She'd never really been afraid of him - she'd been afraid of men in general, surprises, and people touching her - but never _him_. She could do this; she wanted to do this. She wanted her husband.

There was no way to ever explain to Rhys what he'd given her, but then she suspected he knew. He had given her back her power in her life. She had no idea what it had cost him, or how he had known to do it except that Rhys always knew how to make her feel better. The day he'd proposed, he'd given her his cane as a weapon and disabled himself for her. When they had married, he'd kissed her cheek instead of her lips. Every single step of the way he'd been gentle and kind and patient with her, but Belle was sick of being patient and she was sick of being the one who always needed help. If her husband needed her, she was going to put her fear aside and help him.

"I have a book I want you to see," she said as she climbed into her bed and fished the book she'd found so scandalous only a handful of weeks ago out from under a pillow.

Her husband looked at her warily as he shed his robe and joined her. She flipped through the first few chapters before arriving at the illustrations that had so startled her and handed it over to him.

"This was in the books you bought me," she explained. "I can't imagine they knew it was in there, but I found it a few weeks ago."

Rhys licked his lips and she saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. His eyes were darting back and forth between her and the book and she knew he wasn't sure what to do, but she hadn't been sure at first either.

"How long ago?" he asked at last.

"Around the time we started sharing a bed again," she replied. "That's what gave me the idea to try touching you."

"Oh," he said, sounding so adorably confounded her heart skipped a beat. "And you've been reading this?"

His eyes were firmly locked on the illustration now, open to a colorful picture of a man seated behind a woman. Her legs were spread wide and her lover touched her as they kissed.

"I read the whole thing," she replied. "Twice."

The book slipped out of his grasp and he scrambled to recover it.

"Belle…" he groaned her name and closed his eyes. "What are you asking for?"

"I just want to _try_," she replied, gesturing towards the book. "Not necessarily _that_. But something. I want to keep moving forward. With you. Aren't you sick of letting someone else control your life? Because I am."

He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes tight.

"It doesn't have to be this," she repeated, taking the book back. "Or even tonight. But I was hoping there might be something you'd like to do, even if it's just read it with me."

Rhys sighed and opened his eyes again. He looked at her for a long moment, and she decided to risk touching him. She raised her hand to cup his face and he turned his cheek into her open palm like.

"I'll read it with you," he said affectionately. "If nothing else, I should probably know what sort of ideas are in your head now."

There was no patronization in his voice despite his words, and she suspected he was more concerned out of a sense of self-preservation than because of any idea about what she should and shouldn't know. So she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before snuggling into his side with the book in hand. She would skip the portions about etiquette and furniture, and instead turned to the chapter that contained a description of the various types of kisses lovers might engage in. Her husband's arm came around her midsection cautiously, as though he feared that she would pull away from him. Instead, she moved in closer and leaned her head against his shoulder. His hand was warm where it rested against her belly and she was abuzz with pleasure as she opened the book and began reading.

"_It is said by some,_" she began, "_that there is no fixed time or order between the embrace, the kiss, and the pressing or scratching with the nails or fingers, but that all these things should be done generally before sexual union takes place, while striking and making the various sounds generally takes place at the time of the union._"

She felt herself blush as she read the familiar words in sentences she'd never spoken aloud. The idea of fingers pressing into her flesh had been fascinating to her since she'd encountered it. It sounded painful, but the author of the book listed it as one of a series of pleasurable activities including kisses, embraces, and 'sexual union.' It was a thought that had wormed its way into her conscious and refused to let go. She wondered if he'd do it if she asked it of him, but today she'd promised they would just read despite the tension building in her lower belly.

"_On the occasion of the first congress,_" she read, putting her hand on his thigh gently to gauge his reaction. "_kissing and the other things mentioned above should be done moderately, they should not be continued for a long time, and should be done alternately_."

Rhys snorted, and Belle stopped to look at him quizzically.

"With all due respect to," he tilted the book in her hands back so he could read the name on the front, "Vatsyayana and Mr. Burton, the first time should be nothing but those things."

"He says that after the first time you should do them more," she replied, unsure why she was defending the book to her husband.

"The first time," he said softly, not really looking at her anymore even though she was staring at him. "The first time should mostly be kissing and touching until you're both nearly ready to die from the excitement of it. Then you can move on to the rest."

"Was that how yours was?" she asked him, unsure what sort of answer she really expected. Her first time had been none of those things, but she didn't want to dwell on that fact there in bed with her husband.

"No," he replied. "Not exactly. Some things you learn with age and experience."

"Oh," she said, because what else could she say? The buzzing inside her was reaching a fever pitch and she desperately wanted to know more. "Will you show me?"

He turned to her quickly with a startled expression on his face.

"Belle," he began and she knew what he would say before he even said it.

"Just kissing," she interrupted. "You've kissed me before."

She saw him consider her words for a moment before he nodded and she smiled and turned to face him. Their positions had her leaning down to kiss him, but she found she rather liked that. She felt stronger and safer somehow while she was over top of him and it wasn't long before the buzzing inside of her had worked into a nearly unbearable heat. She guided his hands to her sides and leaned further into him to deepen the kiss. She felt good when they did this; it had lost its terror for her and now only held pleasure. The more she kissed him, the more sure she was that kissing him would be the key to making this work. When she kissed him, she became lost in his lips and time seemed to hold still and move too fast at the same time.

She put her hands on his chest and let the warmth of him seep into her through her fingers. He was her husband, and his heart was beating strong and steady beneath her. She loved him, he loved her, and they would be happy.

After a few moments, Belle collapsed against Rhys a little and let herself rest against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her just enough that she didn't quite feel trapped; she just felt cherished.

"I like kissing you," she admitted after pulling away for a moment. "You're good at it."

He smiled and she couldn't help running her fingers through his hair.

"You're lovely," he replied. "I'm sorry, I -"

She quickly pressed her lips to his before he could apologize to her again. She didn't want to hear his reasons for not wanting her to love him, she just wanted him to trust that she _could_ love him. They were just kissing. It would be all right - they would both be all right.

Once she was sure he wasn't going to try to apologize, Belle broke the kiss and returned to her original place leaning against his shoulder with the book in her lap.

"Do you like that?" she asked him idly, tracing the cover of her book. "Kissing, I mean."

"I do," he said almost instantly. "I very much do."

He put his arm back around her and curled into her a bit with his face buried in her hair and his legs against hers. She wondered if he was even aware he was doing it, or if it was just simply his way of seeking comfort from her. Either way, she was relishing this moment of being held and not scared. He wasn't trying to restrain her, he was trying to stay close to her and somehow that made all the difference in the world as to whether it was comforting. She pressed back against him, letting him hold her as tight as he wanted and threaded the fingers of her hand through the fingers of his good one.

Rhys smelled clean and warm with a hint of whatever cologne it was he used. She had grown to love that scent since they'd been living together, and she shut her eyes and inhaled, filling her lungs with him. He'd never hurt her; he was safety and affection and she loved him.

"I love you," she murmured, deciding he deserved to hear it again properly.

Rhys' fingers clenched a little bit when she spoke, but he nodded against her neck and she smiled.

"And you love me," she continued and he nodded again. "And you're not going to hurt me. Neither one of us needs to be afraid."

He tensed behind her but didn't pull away, and she took it as a good sign.

"Rhys," she whispered his name. "I'm not afraid of you."

He didn't reply, so she repeated it again and again until he relaxed at last behind her.

"I do love you," he said at last, so softly that she felt it more than she heard it. "And I'd die before I hurt you."

"I know," she replied, tossing her book at last to the side of the bed. "Because I'd kill you if you tried."

She meant it as a tease, and she felt him smile against her neck. It did seem to calm him, though - the idea that she could stand up for herself - and she decided to take it a little further.

"There's a knife in the box on my bedside table," she confessed. "I've slept with it either there or under my pillow since before we got married. I only moved it to the table when you started sleeping here."

Rhys pulled away for a second and she felt him staring to see if she was serious about that part.

"You can check if you'd like," she replied and when he didn't immediately she wriggled away and reached over to grab the little lacquer box she kept her knife in. She pulled it out and held it for him to look at.

Rhys seemed stunned for a few moments and then he started shaking and it took her a second to recognize he was _finally_ laughing at something.

"That's a paring knife," he said incredulously.

"I stole it from my father's house," she admitted, setting it back in its box and putting it back on her nightstand. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he said at last. "You can't kill a man with that, it's too small to stab someone with. We'll get you a proper one tomorrow."

She should probably feel put out that he thought her choice of weapon was funny, but she was just relieved he wasn't so sullen anymore. He settled down onto the pillow with a smile on his face and she happily joined him, relieved that whatever tension had been following him since her father's visit had finally fled and left her husband as her companion again.

"I didn't have too many options, you know," she said, poking him in the side. "Nobody was going to buy me a dagger."

"Well," he replied. "If my wife feels safest with a knife by her bed, she'll have a better one and we can try and sneak that one back into your father's kitchens."

Belle smiled and took his hand in his. She was so happy that he was happy and that he was _here_ with her. The strange feeling in her belly had settled a bit, but it was still there and she wanted more of it again.

"Would you touch me again?" she asked him once they'd both relaxed again. "If I asked?"

"Of course," he said. "Any time you want that you can just ask."

"Then I want it," she replied.

He paused for a moment and she was afraid he might not have really meant it, but then he was kissing her neck and shoulder and his free hand was on her hip. He was moving tentatively, as though he weren't quite sure if she had been serious or not. Belle squirmed under his touch and bunched her nightgown up over her thighs, inviting him in closer. He needed some encouragement to put his hand on her bare flesh, but once he did, he squeezed her hip and she knew suddenly that the book had been right and fingers pressing into her skin felt _wonderful._

She arched her back and gasped, and finally he moved between her legs and she didn't have to be asked to leave her knees wide for him to settle with his shoulders underneath her legs so he could put his face in the juncture of her thighs. His lips were on that sensitive spot again and it was Heaven there as his mouth and tongue moved against her. She felt herself building again to that place that had scared her so much before, and she was halfway to stopping him again when he did _something_ with his tongue and suddenly her world was spiralling out of control. Belle felt like she was flying for a moment and the earth seemed to tilt and focus where his mouth was still on her and stars were in her eyes and she couldn't catch her breath and then suddenly he was there next to her and he was cradling her in his arms and it was all _wonderful_.

Once it was over, Belle couldn't have described what had happened if she'd needed to, especially not in the immediate aftermath when her legs were still shuddering and it still felt like little shocks were radiating through her. It took her a moment to catch her breath, but eventually she did and was able to put her thoughts together coherently enough to be a little self-conscious of her exposed state and to pull the blankets over her sweat-slick skin.

"What was that?" she asked him, snuggling into his chest and seeking whatever warmth and security she could get from him.

"Have you never…" he said, looking at her with wide eyes and for a second she felt self-conscious, but then suddenly he shook his head a little and kissed her forehead. "No, of course not. It was a climax, sweetheart. It's supposed to happen."

"Oh," she replied, feeling sleep suddenly begin to overcome her. "I've never felt anything like it."

"There isn't anything like it," he said. "Do you feel better?"

"I do," she said. "Is this what it feels like for you?"

"I'm not sure," he replied. "Nobody can really be sure, can they?"

"I suppose not," she agreed. "Goodnight, Rhys."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

She pressed her ear to his chest, and let the beating of his heart and the languidness of her muscles lull her into sleep.

It was entirely beyond Rhys to deny his wife anything, and the next morning, bright and early, they were dressed and in a carriage en route to an antique dealer to find Belle a suitable dagger. If they couldn't find anything, Rhys had no compunction about placing an order with the local blacksmith, but he wanted her to have something as soon as possible. If sleeping with a knife by her bedside kept his wife feeling secure, then she would have one.

Dagger shopping with Belle proved to be a rather amusing experience. She had very little knowledge beyond that the pointy end needed to go toward whomever she wanted to stab. Which, granted, was a good start - but she ended up needing a lot of guidance in selecting a proper one. The shopkeeper initially had seemed put off by the fact that Rhys was buying a weapon for his lady wife, but after realizing Rhys was willing to spend quite a lot of money on a weapon for his lady wife, the man instantly became more helpful. By the time they had finally selected a proper weapon for Belle, there was a decent pile of blades in front of them.

In the end, it was a Scottish dirk that finally made the cut. It wasn't the fanciest thing that had been presented to them (and to keep Belle high in the shopkeeper's estimation he added a brooch and a letter opener). The dagger they'd selected wasn't too large for Belle to handle, which had been his primary concern, and but it also had an ornately carved hilt and a scabbard studded with sapphires and rubies forming little flowers. It was feminine and delicate and - most importantly - would easily cut through to the kidneys of any man who tried to touch her against her will.

After the antique dealer, they stopped at the blacksmith to have her blade polished and sharpened to a dangerous degree before returning home. She kissed him on the cheek at the door and went upstairs to stow her presents and to make sure the dirk would fit in the box by her bed.

That night in her bed was practically a repeat of the previous one:, she read from her book for a little while, he pleasured her until they were both exhausted and then they fell asleep in each other's arms. It was a pattern repeated almost every night for the next two weeks, though sometimes she would ask him to pleasure himself while she watched and once she had him direct her in how to touch him before he eventually took over and finished himself off. It was terrifying, and stressful, and even so he still loved it. He'd never minded using his mouth on a woman, and Belle was responsive to his touch and his caresses. Most importantly, though, she didn't seem afraid of him. It was an important step, and he was grateful they'd taken it.

Finally, his six weeks in the splint was up and Dr. Hopper arrived with his bag in order to examine Rhys and give him the final okay to go back to normal. Peculiarly, Belle vanished not long after the doctor arrived, leaving Rhys alone for his examination.

Dr. Hopper had him demonstrate his range of motion in his fingers and squeeze his fingers before finally removing the bandages.

"You might be a little weak for a little while," Dr. Hopper explained, but Rhys was sure he could handle anything thrown at him as long as it meant getting the horrible, itchy splint off.

He sighed with relief when his arm was finally free. Dr. Hopper filled a basin with water and herbs and told Rhys to wash the dead skin off, which was when Rhys realized his life wasn't returning to normal any time soon. The moment he lifted his arm, his hand flopped down limply and it took all his strength to hold it upright. The muscles must have withered during his injury and he had only limited control of it. This was going to be very awkward to deal with.

Belle didn't emerge from wherever she'd been until after the doctor had left, but Rhys didn't press her for information when she finally came to him in his office. She sometimes didn't like visitors, and honestly he could live without them himself most times.

"How's your arm?" she asked him.

She came behind him and dragged her fingertips against the back of his collar in a way that sent a little bit of a shiver down his spine.

"It's been better," he admitted, holding his hand up so she could see how it hung limply at the end of his wrist. "Apparently the muscles have atrophied."

Belle gave him a sympathetic smile and hopped up on the desk. She took his hand in hers and began stroking the fingers and wrist gently.

"You poor thing," she said. "Your poor arm."

"It's not as bad as it looks," he replied, at least partially out of masculine pride and partially because it was hard for anything to be bad while Belle was holding his hand for the first time in weeks. "The doctor said it should recover within a few weeks."

"That's good," she said, stroking his palm. "Does it at least feel better to be out of it?"

"It does," he said. "For one thing, it doesn't itch anymore."

"Good," she said, smiling at him earnestly. "I'm glad. Will you be coming to bed tonight?"

It took him a second to catch up with her change in subject, but he nodded anyway.

"I thought," she began, and she took a deep breath before continuing. "I thought perhaps we might try...do you think we could try for _more_?"

It took him a second to realize what she meant, but the blush that had spread across her cheeks at her question told him everything he needed to know: she wanted to make love, and she wanted it soon. He felt his heart sink and his stomach tie itself up in knots at the prospect, but she looked so hopeful - and he knew it had cost her to even ask for it.

"We can try," he said at last, wishing she hadn't asked or that he had the heart to say no to her. "If that's what you'd like."

"I would," she said softly, still stroking his hand.

"All right then," he said, trying to sound surer than he felt. "Tonight."

"Tonight," she repeated, hopping down off the desk and kissing him on the forehead. "I can't wait."

He, on the other hand, could wait. He really, really could.


	27. A Blessed Union

Rhys was a little late to her room that night, but just when Belle was wondering if she was going to have to go fetch, him he knocked on her door with a sheepish smile and his robe drawn close around his body. Her heart fluttered a little at the sight of him and she clung to that sensation as he stepped into the room and she realized exactly what she'd asked him to do that night. It wasn't too late to back out if she wanted to, but she didn't want to. She didn't want that to even be a consideration. She wanted to be able to do this without fear or trepidation, and she was starting to think it was rather like swimming and she was going to have to just put her head under the water and get the mystery out of it before she could stop fixating. She could do this, she just had to focus.

As though sensing her discomfort, Rhys put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "We really don't have to go through with it. I won't be disappointed."

"I will," she said as firmly as she could. "I _want_ to."

He looked a little apprehensive, but he nodded anyway and didn't pull away. She threw her arms around his neck and raised up onto her toes to kiss him as hard as she dared. He slid his hands down from her shoulders to her sides and drew her closer. She liked this, it was nice. She was used to being kissed by him, and it soothed her a little that they weren't yet in her bed. There was still time to get used to him; they had all night. They stayed that way for a little while before she finally slipped away and led him to her bed.

She could do this, she reminded herself, and so could he. He'd done it before with his previous wife, and frequently enough that he got a son out of it. That had to mean something, didn't it?

"Are you nervous?" he asked her as they climbed into her bed.

"A little," she admitted.

"We don't have to do it," he said quickly.

"I want to," she replied as firmly as she could. "Unless, of course, you don't."

Rhys looked around, looking a little lost as to how to answer the question. He kissed her in lieu of answering, and Belle grabbed ahold of the front of his nightclothes and deepened the kiss in response. She'd wanted him to try, and she wanted this to be good for both of them. She knew he was scared, too, but she was so tired of the fear holding her back - it was time to let it go.

Belle laid backwards and he propped himself up on one side of her and slid her nightgown up. She didn't know exactly what to do at that juncture, so she laid there as he stroked her thigh and probed her folds with his fingers. It felt good, but it always felt nice when he touched her. He seemed to be trying tease her into a climax and she wanted to let him, but more than anything she wanted to feel _him_ and know this was something she could do and enjoy without tricking her mind and body.

"Please," she said after a little while of his teasing her. "I want to do this."

She moved her hands down to cup him through his nightclothes, and he groaned in response to her ministrations and rested his forehead on her shoulder as she stroked him to hardness and began working her way into his nightclothes. He rolled over top of her and she returned to laying against the pillow with her eyes closed.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he whispered.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him as confidently as she could. She wanted this, she wanted to be with him. She wanted to _truly_ be his wife. Rhys kissed her forehead and reached down to line himself up with her entrance. She took a deep breath and felt her smile falter and suddenly he whimpered and looked away.

"What's wrong?" she asked, reaching down to feel him and finding him soft in her hands.

"I can't do this," he muttered, rolling off of her. "I'm sorry."

"Rhys?" she said, reaching out for him as he pulled away from her. "Are you okay?"

"No," he said, climbing out of her bed and putting his robe back on. "I can't do it."

She was so confused and she wished he would just _tell _her about it instead of running again.

"What's wrong?" she asked, getting out of bed and going to where he stood on the other side of the room. "What happened?"

"I can't do it," he repeated pitifully. "You look so scared every time I'm on top of you and I can't do it. I can't have you be scared of me, not ever and especially not while we're doing _that_."

Belle was completely taken aback. She'd not been worrying too much about his reactions to her, because she'd taken for granted that he was the one who knew what he was doing and of course he could go ahead. Nothing in her experiences up until then had given her any idea that men sometimes couldn't go through with it if you were afraid.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I pushed you too far, didn't I?"

"No," he said too fast. "Well, maybe a little."

"I shouldn't have done that," she replied, sitting on the side of the bed and patting the spot next to her. "It wasn't fair."

"I shouldn't have failed you," he said, joining her, perhaps a little reluctantly. "You deserve better."

"I just want you to be comfortable," she replied. "And I want me to be comfortable, too."

"Were you comfortable?" he asked her.

"I was," she said. "More or less. It was a little bit intimidating, though."

She felt smaller now than she had before her confession, and he put an arm around her and kissed her on the top of her head. It buoyed her to have this little bit of reassurance that he still loved her regardless. There had to be things they could try, didn't there? Some way to make it work without fear and closeness overwhelming her.

"Do you think…" she began, biting her lip and trailing off.

"Do I think what?"

"Do you think if we tried it a different way that might help?"

They'd really only ever attempted the deed with him on top of her, but she knew there were other options. She'd seen pictures of them and it had to be possible that one of them might work, didn't it?

"It might," he said cautiously. "Did you have something in mind?"

"There was something in the book," she said. "I thought it might help."

"What was it?" he asked her.

"What if I were on top of you?" she replied. "That might work, won't it? You said I look scared when you're over me, but if we tried the other way then isn't there a possibility it might work better?"

"I suppose," he replied and she thought she might have seen a little bit of a blush on his cheeks. "If you want."

"Do you want to?" she asked him, because she needed him to want her as much as she wanted him.

"Are you still scared?"

"A little," she admitted because all she had now was the truth. "But I'm tired of being afraid. I just want to be with you."

He gave her a nervous little half-smile that looked like he couldn't quite decide if he was happy or not and she reached out to take his hand. When he didn't pull away, she risked a kiss and he threaded his free hand through her hair and she tilted her head into his touch. She liked it when he touched her and she focused on that feeling as she carefully untied his robe and tried to slide it off his shoulders. He dropped his arms and let her strip it off of him before scooting back up the bed so he rested against the headboard. Belle followed and knelt next to him to kiss him again. Rhys wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. He'd never held her like this before (or at least, he'd never instigated it), but she liked it. It was secure and safe without being confining.

They sat there a little while with her curled up in his arms until she grew restless and began to trace her fingers up and down the little bit of skin visible at his neck. Her head was on his shoulder as she began to idly unbutton his pyjamas slowly. Before she had made much progress, he brought his hand up to hers and held her for a moment.

"Will you let me take them off?" she asked him. "I'd like to see you."

"There's not much to see," he said, but he released her hand anyway. She settled her hand on the next button, but didn't immediately pull it through the fabric; she just toyed with the closure a little.

"I've never seen a man undressed," she said. "Except in art, anyway."

He was breathing deeper now and she slipped the button through before moving to the next one. Rhys brought his hand to hers again, but he didn't hold her. She stilled anyway, and let him run his fingers up and down her arm from wrist to elbow.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him when he didn't speak.

"I'm just trying to be here," he said. "What about you?"

"The same," she replied. "But it's easier than I thought it would be."

"Is it?"

"I want to be with you," she said as sincerely as she could manage. "And I trust you. I'm not afraid with you."

She was far more nervous than she was going to let on, but if he knew she _was_ afraid they'd never get anywhere, and if this went on much longer she worried that it would become something insurmountable for them. Her heart was pounding in her chest as he drew her hand to his lips and kissed her palm before releasing her. Rather than immediately returning her hands to his shirt, though, she pulled her nightgown up and moved to straddle his legs. His eyes immediately went to her thighs and she couldn't help the little smile at his distraction as she returned to his buttons, this time getting them all undone easily. He let her push the shirt off his shoulders and in return, she took his hands and set them on her bare legs.

Belle had half expected to have this trigger her fear, but instead she felt nothing but a delicious warmth at the touch of his hands. Rhys was really the only one who had ever touched her like this, and there were no bad memories to dredge up when he slid his palms up to her hips with an awestruck look on his face that just made her want nothing more than to spend the entire night here with him touching her. She took advantage of his distraction to explore his chest at her leisure. There weren't many opportunities for a young lady of quality to see a man's bare chest outside of a museum, and Rhys' was so different than any sculpture of David or Zeus she'd ever seen. There was a sparse smattering of hair on his chest, and he was lean which she thought idly was far more attractive than what she'd been used to seeing in a museum. He felt nice under her hands and she studied his body with an enthusiasm she'd rarely felt before in her life as she teased the hair with her fingers. It was soothing, in a way, to focus on his chest as he trailed his fingers up and down between her knees and hips.

Her hands skimmed his nippples and he shivered, grabbing hold of her a little. Intrigued, she turned her full attention to them, teasing one of the little buds between her fingers. He squeezed her again in response.

"Do you like that?" she asked, doing it again.

"Yeah," he said softly, massaging her thighs languidly now and clearly more relaxed than he had been about the whole process.

She wasn't really sure which of them was more nervous, but she knew that he was going to take his cues from her, so if she was determined to go through with this, she was going to have to make him believe that she bore no fear. She knew that her husband was no threat to her, but no matter what she'd tried, there was still a little knot of anxiety in her belly that no amount of confidence in him had been able to remove. She wasn't afraid of him - she was afraid of what he could potentially do if he wanted to, but mostly she was afraid of her own reaction and the chance that she might panic. That was the thing she'd always been most afraid of, she realized. Even at their wedding, she had been more nervous about being upset by him kissing her than she had about him actually kissing her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and she realized she must have shown some of her nerves on her face again.

"I am," she said. "Just thinking too much."

"Would you like to try something?" he asked her timidly and she nodded, even though she wasn't sure she would. "Would you get some ribbons or sashes or something you don't care about for me?"

Belle had no idea what he could possibly want with them, but there was a surprising surplus of ribbons in her embroidery basket from her failed attempts at hat decorating before Jefferson had finally taken over for her.

"How many do you need?" she called out as she sorted through them.

"Just two longer ones," he replied from where he sat on the bed.

She selected the two longest ones from her basket and brought them back to the bed, settling down next to him with the ribbons. She held them out, but instead of taking them he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her lips softly, letting out a groan when she returned the kiss and drew his lower lip between hers. The first time she'd done that it had been an accident, but he'd had much the same reaction so she'd kept doing it on occasion and it had never failed to get his attention. Something about kissing always put butterflies in her stomach and a smile on her face. It was something she'd only ever shared with him, and tonight that was enough to settle some of her nerves.

"What did you want the ribbons for?" she asked him when they finally broke apart again.

"I want you to do something for me," he said, reaching out and teasing the end of the ribbon. "I want you to tie me to the bed."

This was something that Belle hadn't ever encountered in her readings, and it _definitely _wasn't something she'd ever thought people did in this situation. For enjoyment.

"Why?" she asked, unsure of why he'd ask her for that, or why he'd want it himself.

"If I can't use my hands then you don't have to worry," he explained, stroking her hair. "You'll be in complete control."

She could definitely see the appeal in it, and there was a part of her that the idea of _control_ was calling to. If she was ever going to enjoy this, then that could be the key to it.

"And you'd be all right if I did that?" she asked him tentatively. "It wouldn't be…" her voice trailed off as she searched for a word to encompass how she'd feel tied to a bed: uncomfortable, afraid, terrified, panic stricken.

Rhys leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"It won't bother me a bit," he said. "I'll be happy knowing you're comfortable."

She nodded, straightening out a ribbon and scooting over to the headboard as she tried to decide how best to approach this new situation. She'd never been in a position to need to tie a man to a bed before, but there was a bit of wooden embellishment on the top of her headboard that had plenty of holes through which she could string the ribbons before tying first one hand and then the other above his head.

When she was done, Belle sat back and surveyed her work and instantly felt a sudden _awareness_ \- a fluttering in her womb that she'd come to associate with their time alone together and which had been missing all evening. There was something strangely attractive about seeing him like that, and she felt a need for him beginning to rise in her.

"Is that all right?" she asked him, reaching out and stroking his chest as he tested the ribbons. She wasn't sure if he was really trying all that hard to escape, but she thought it was really more symbolic than anything. "Did I do it right?"

"It's perfect," he said reassuringly.

"What do I do now?" she asked, looking over him in confusion. She knew there were _things_ she wanted to do (or at least her body did) but she wasn't sure what those things actually were and it was killing her because she needed guidance still.

"Will you take your nightgown off?" he asked and she probably should have been more self-conscious than she was, but he was completely displayed before her and it was easy to focus on that as she slowly pulled off the nightgown. There was a moment of timidity once she was finally naked in front of him for the first time, but his eyes were a little glazed over as he looked at her like she was precious and he couldn't believe she was real, and that made her feel powerful in a new kind of way even as she sat with her hair falling in waves around her shoulders and not a stitch of clothing on.

She leaned forward and kissed him teasingly as she took her hands to the front of his pyjama pants and found him hard again.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against her lips and she felt herself freeze at the statement.

"Don't say that," she said quickly. "Anything but that."

"Right," he replied, looking horrified at his slip. "I'm sorry, I forgot, I was just…"

She leaned forward and kissed him again to stop his talking.

"Don't apologize, please," she said. "I'm all right, just say something else instead."

Focusing on the problem would just compound it, and she wanted to move further forward as she went back to caressing his chest and trying to concentrate on where she'd been before he said it.

"You're fascinating," he said at last. "Did you know that?"

"Fascinating?" she replied, enjoying this new adjective she'd never heard assigned to her before as she brushed her thumb over his nipple. "Is that a compliment?"

"It's the best one I have," he said with a little whimper at her ministrations. "Sometimes when you're outside the light hits your face in a peculiar way and it's radiant. Or when you're reading and you start moving your lips with the dialogue and acting out the scenes."

"_What?_" she exclaimed, stopping in her exploration of his body for a moment. "I do not!"

"You most certainly do," he said with a smug little grin. "Like I said, fascinating."

"I think I would know if I moved my lips," she said in faux-outrage.

"Not when you're truly absorbed in a book," he replied with something that might have been a shrug. She leaned forward a bit and pressed the flat of her tongue over his nipple just to see what he would do. He shuddered and moaned, and she moved her attention to the other one.

She liked having him at her mercy like this, strangely. It was an entirely different experience than when he had his mouth on her as he drew a climax from her body. Here, she had a brand new sort of power and she was giddy with the excitement of it. She'd never been more enthralled in her life than she was by the subtle curves and planes of her husband's body.

"Belle," he murmured, writhing against her hands as she dragged her nails gently across his sides, admiring the way his skin pinkened before fading back to normal.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You're going to drive me mad," he said and she smiled smugly at him.

It was becoming time to move this forward, though. As much as she was enjoying watching his reactions, she truly wanted to experience more of him. She wanted to drive away the bad memories and replace them all with him. She took a deep breath and moved her hands to his hips, pulling his pyjamas down until he was able to kick them off himself. He laid before her, completely bare to her gaze and she couldn't resist looking now. She had seen everything individually, but she hadn't ever seen him like that before. He was erect, and she couldn't take her eyes off the way his member jutted out from him when he was exposed like this. She'd touched it before in the dark, but in this low light it was fascinating and she straddled his thighs and wrapped her hand around it carefully, stroking it the way he'd shown her before. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. She leaned forward and licked his throat gently on an impulse.

"Are you ready?" she asked him preparing to rise up and lower herself over him.

"Are you?" he asked, looking at her suddenly. "Touch yourself."

Belle hesitated, but she trusted his judgment, reaching down between her legs and teasing herself in the places she knew he touched when they were in bed. It was easy to imagine it was his fingers as she watched him watch her, giving the whole experience a strange intensity as she teased herself until her fingers were coated with her own wetness. She didn't want to bring herself to completion yet. She wanted him with her, and truthfully she was excited to get to try this. It was intimidating, but now that she was here her curiosity was piqued and she wanted to try it.

Of course, all that didn't mean that she thought this would be easy. This was the part where she had nothing but bad memories and she was going to need him to help her focus on where she was.

"Can you do something for me?" she asked, taking him in hand and rising up on her knees over top of him.

"Anything," he said, his voice sounding strained though she couldn't focus on that because her attention was trapped at the length and width of him and the question of how she was possibly going to get it inside of her without pain.

"Can you talk to me?" she asked. "I just need to hear your voice while we're doing this."

"Look at me, sweetheart," he said. "Look at my face."

She did as he asked, watching his eyes as she hovered over him.

"It's okay," he continued. "Whatever you want to do, I'm here."

"I'm not sure what I'm doing," she admitted. "But I want to do it."

"Just go slow," he said. "Go slow and keep looking at me. You're so brave, sweetheart."

She nodded, rising up on her knees and scooting forward so they were lined up.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," Rhys said as she lowered herself down so that he was at her entrance. "You're so brave, and you make the house warmer. I love you, Belle. Just look at me. I'm right here."

She took a deep breath and lowered herself down a little bit. There was a brief moment of panic but soon he was sheathed inside her and...nothing. He was inside her and it didn't hurt and she wasn't afraid, despite the way her heart was hammering away in her chest. She'd done it.

Rhys was looking at her and she realized he was waiting to see if she was all right. That in and of itself relaxed her even more and she touched his cheek, kissing his lips and experimentally rising up and lowering herself on him again.

"It feels good," she whispered. "Does it feel good to you?"

He looked absolutely wrecked at her question, but he nodded and buried his face in her neck as she continued her slow movements.

"You feel amazing," he murmured. "You're incredible and so soft and God, Belle, I want you so much. I've wanted you for longer than I ever thought I would."

He was rambling and she didn't care because it was so much easier to remember who she was with when she could hear the cadence of his voice and the words of affection he was saying. She was safe, she was loved, and she was in control.

"Touch yourself again?" he begged. "Please, I want to see you."

She couldn't deny him anything like this. He was tied to her bed as she rode him, it was the most beautiful thing she thought she'd ever seen as she brought her hand back to her sensitive nub and began teasing herself in time with her thrusts. It took no time at all before she felt herself rising to those dizzying heights that had been so terrifying before and now the act of plummeting over that precipice even with him inside of her was almost comforting as she cried out and collapsed against him.

It took her a few moments to remember herself once she'd finished her climax and to return her attentions to her husband. He was breathing heavily now, and his eyes were glazed over a bit. He hadn't finished yet, and she wanted him to finish. She wanted to see what it looked like when he came undone.

She began to move up and down on him again, trusting her body to do what felt right as he whimpered and groaned underneath her. Belle watched his face and listened as his breathing began to take on the tones she'd come to understand meant he was close, and his hips started to buck underneath her. His hands were pulling on the ribbons and she watched as he suddenly whimpered and moaned and his hips thrust up into her one last time before his entire body seemed to go limp. Belle quickly untied the ribbons from his wrists and he drew her close in his arms.

"That was really nice," she said once words weren't beyond her anymore.

"It was," he said, kissing her forehead. "You were perfect."

"Thank you," she replied. "For letting me do it and letting me tie you up."

"Trust me, you do not have to thank me for that," he said with a smile. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I am," she said. "It wasn't nearly as scary as I'd built it up to be."

He smiled at her and leaned against the headboard. Belle kept her head on his shoulder and watched the thrumming of his pulse in his throat until the cold of the room finally chilled them both and forced them under the blankets. She'd never felt so satisfied with herself in her life, and she was beginning to feel those familiar stirrings of hope again. Her marriage was consummated, and for the first time in a long time she felt like a whole person. Was there anything she couldn't do?


	28. Grief Like Fear

When she awoke the next morning, Belle didn't really feel any different. It was actually a little disappointing; she'd put so much time and effort into this and pushed herself and him so hard and now...had it meant anything in the end? Of course she'd enjoyed it, and she was looking forward to doing it again, but she'd thought it would make her _better _and she just felt the same. The revelation settled like lead in her belly, because if this wasn't good enough to make her better then what would ever be enough?

That was entirely too much melancholy for what should be a happy morning, she decided. She wasn't having one of her bad days, and that would have to be enough. Regardless of anything else, she'd achieved something the night before, no matter that it hadn't been quite what she'd thought. She rolled over and burrowed into Rhys' side as much as she could. He roused just enough to wrap an arm around her before settling down again. He was warm and he loved her, and she wanted to bask in that and forget the parts of her that were broken for just a little longer.

"Good morning," he said after a little while, alerting her to the fact that he had woken up. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she replied, curling up closer than before. "Do we have to be awake yet?"

"No," he said. "We don't have to do anything you don't want."

She smiled at that and closed her eyes to try to stay with him as long as she could manage. Eventually, though, life intruded.

"What's that sound?" she mumbled, already knowing what the answer would be before he gave it.

"There's a horse in the drive," he replied, rolling away and looking around for his clothes. "We should probably get up."

She sighed and climbed out of bed. He'd already begun putting his pyjamas on, and he held her dressing gown out for her to slide her arms into it, even going so far as to pull her hair out of the back of it for her. There was a quiet sort of intimacy between them that hadn't been there before, and she took heart from that. Belle watched as he finished dressing and she kissed him on the lips as he left for his own room to get properly dressed for the morning.

Things seemed a lot brighter after the way Rhys had looked at her that morning, and she was feeling almost relieved as she rang for Lizzie to come and dress her. Belle still usually did her own hair, but she needed Lizzie to lace her into a cream-colored silk tea gown with a pink robe. It had been one of the last things Belle had bought before she'd been hurt, and she'd never worn it before. It had seemed to be too pretty and too special for when she'd been sad, so she'd put it to the back of her wardrobe and waited until the day came when she might be entertaining again. Well, she was through with waiting to wear it. Today was special enough, and she was looking forward to wearing the dress.

It took a bit of time to do her own hair, and by the time she was finally ready to face the day it wasn't surprising that Rhys was already out and about. She was, however, a bit startled that he was waiting for her in her library, a place he generally avoided unless she invited him into. The fact that he'd been waiting meant something big was happening.

"Did we have news?" she asked him, holding herself steady on one of the chairs.

"There was a message from your father," Rhys replied, coming towards her and offering her the letter. She didn't take it - she couldn't focus on the words and she wanted to hear his voice and not her own mind. Fortunately, he seemed to understand and volunteered the information before she could ask for it. "Your cousin is home. We're invited to come visit with them and meet his bride-to-be at our earliest convenience."

"Oh," she said, finally taking the paper he'd held out to her. "Well, that will be nice."

She shouldn't be upset. This wasn't a surprise and she had to remember that. His marriage had been a foregone conclusion, she'd known it was coming, and even before her own marriage, she'd known that this life was lost to her - but that didn't make it much easier to accept that someone else would be benefitting from her misfortune. Even through all that, though, Belle was desperately aware that all the men in this situation would be watching her reactions to try to gauge her mental state and her recovery. She would be damned if she let any of them think she was anything but totally sane. She was _not_ going to convalesce again and she'd never survive another few weeks of sitting alone in her room with no distractions to 'disturb' her. She'd rather die, and she was going to keep herself together at any cost.

"I don't think we have plans tomorrow, do we?" she asked him at last, glancing at the lines her father had written. "Unless you have plans?"

"No," he said. "If you'd like to visit tomorrow, I can make myself available."

"Good," she replied. "Then I'll write to let them know."

He stood watching her and she felt his eyes as she walked to her writing desk to pen a reply. She had to be normal, and she had to look it. She didn't want him to pity her, she was _happy_ and she wanted everyone to know it. It didn't matter that she was jealous or whatever it was she was feeling, she didn't want anyone to think it lessened her satisfaction with her life. All she wanted was for everyone to know she was happy in her marriage and that she was going to be all right. Belle had worked so, so hard to get to where she was and this was threatening to bring everything crashing down around her ears.

Belle schooled her features into a mask of calm as she started putting pen to paper. The careful scratching sound of her pen was something corporeal to hold onto while it felt like her life was slipping away from her, and she focused on that and the thick line of ink on clean paper until finally Rhys came over and kissed the top of her head so gently she thought it might break her. Thankfully, he left quietly and she was alone with her thoughts for awhile. She took her hurt and resentment and bottled it up and shoved it away. She would deal with it later when the wound wasn't so fresh and when she didn't have anyone watching her for the slightest sign she'd fall back apart.

Once the note was written, Belle sealed it and went downstairs to find Grace. She'd give the girl a penny to take the note over and then she would seek out her husband. The last thing she wanted was for him to think her heart was otherwise engaged, and she also just wanted to see him. Rhys was her husband, and she was dedicated to making that marriage work - it _had_ to work. Besides, she'd specifically put on the tea dress for him and she refused to let this news ruin it for her.

oOo

It had been ages since Belle had been back to her father's house - since that last dinner before Gaston had left - and returning to it already had her on edge. She'd not gotten much sleep the night before anyway, instead she'd laid in bed watching her husband as he slept and trying very hard not to feel like she was betraying him by being upset. He'd already been so patient and kind with her, how could she possibly wish for anything else? The answer, of course, was that she didn't really want that life - she just wished she'd been able to decide she hadn't wanted it for herself. It was a life that she'd been told she wanted from the time she was a baby and then one day it wasn't an option for her anymore.

Rhys had handed her carefully into the carriage and rode with her in strained silence on the way to tea with her family. She wrapped her hands around his and tried to ignore the way her skin itched the closer they got to the place she had once called home. Everything felt too tight as she stepped down into the drive and all she wanted to do was _run_ but it was too late, because they were expected any moment.

She clung to Rhys' arm as they walked up to the door and were granted entrance by a footman who she instantly recognized. He gave them a wide berth that made Belle's heart sink. Everyone here would be expecting her to fail and she knew that she would never be able to hold it together for the entire visit if everyone would be so worried about her reaction. It was all she could do to paste a smile on her face before they made it to the drawing room. Her father and Gaston both jumped to their feet to greet them, and behind the two of them Belle caught a glimpse of a dark haired woman about her own age and an older lady who Belle presumed was a chaperone of some variety.

"Belle," Gaston said. "It's been too long."

"It has," she replied as easily as she could before greeting her father. She just had to get through this tea and she could go home and breathe.

At last, the moment of truth. The dark haired woman came to stand next to Gaston and introductions were being made. Belle's blood was rushing in her ears, but she had to maintain some sort of composure. She dug her nails into her palms as the young lady was introduced as Miss Ruby Lucas of New York and her grandmother (who would be staying until at least after the wedding). It was almost impossible for her to focus on the rest of the conversation with the way air was refusing to stay in her lungs. She clung to her teacup for dear life and tried to just look shy and retiring as everyone else carried on a conversation without her.

The tea and cakes tasted like home, it was a recipe she'd known her whole life and one of her favorites. And Belle's stomach was clenching as she looked around at the reminders of her life before. She was overwhelmed with nostalgia and memories - both good and bad - and the horrible realization that there was no going back. She could not ever return home or bring things back to the way they had been before. She was homesick, and there was nothing to fix it.

That revelation was still rumbling around in Belle's head when there was a crash from the hallway. Everyone else had turned towards the door and then as one they turned to face her and it took her a moment to realize that she'd screamed and dropped her plate at the sound. The entire room had gone quiet at her outburst; nobody seemed to know what to say. It was Gaston who first acted, jumping to his feet and dashing to the hall before returning with news that one of the maids had knocked over a candlestick - but there was no recovering the mood and it wasn't long before the party broke up.

She couldn't remember a single thing that had been said during the tea, she just knew that she'd made a fool out of herself.

oOo

Rhys was carefully watching his wife, and he wasn't sure what to do besides wait for her to reach out to him. She'd begun that nervous tic of dragging her nails along her left wrist, which she'd not done in his presence since the early days of their marriage. She was also practically vibrating with a nervous energy and had been getting progressively more agitated since the day before. She was staring out the window and rubbing her wrist harder and harder and finally he couldn't watch anymore.

"Belle," he said gently, drawing her attention. "You keep scratching your wrist, darling."

She was looking at him blankly and he had the unsettling feeling that she wasn't quite seeing him. He was unsure whether or not to risk touching her when suddenly her eyes seemed to snap into focus and she buried her hands in her skirts.

"I'm sorry," she replied, and he could see the tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I don't even know why I'm so upset," she hesitated just a moment before continuing. "You're not thinking of sending me into an asylum, are you?"

He had absolutely no idea where that thought has come from. She was biting her lower lip, and he just wanted to hold her in his arms and comfort her but he didn't dare make any moves toward her without permission. She'd become much more comfortable with him in recent weeks, but something about this meeting had her regressing to behaviors she'd all but abandoned.

Instead of pulling her towards him, he dropped to his knees on the floor of the carriage. His ankle was screaming, but he knew she felt more comfortable when he was prone like this and she needed some sort of reassurance. Rhys didn't immediately touch her, because he knew she would need time to decide if she wanted to reject him. The tears that had been forming were now flowing down her face silently, and he reached up slowly as he could giving her plenty of time to move away from him and gently brushed a tear off her chin before it could fall onto her dress. She suddenly gasped and ran her fingers into his hair, petting him and touching whatever parts she could reach as she sobbed out whatever it was that she'd been keeping in.

"I'm sorry," she murmured as she cried. "I'm so, so sorry."

He shushed her and set his hands on her thighs so she could see where they were.

"Sweetheart, you've done nothing wrong," he replied. "and I'm certainly not going to send you away. You've just had a bad day is all, we can try again tomorrow."

"I don't know why I'm so upset," she said. "I really don't. I'm happy with our life. Truly, I am. I just...I don't know. I hate that I didn't get to really choose this one over that one."

He nodded and she crumpled onto the floor with him, leaning into his chest and letting him put his arms around her. It was brutally uncomfortable to be curled up on the floor like that, but it was a short ride and at least now he was able to get his legs out from under him.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," he said softly. "I understand."

"I've been locked away before, you know," she said, and he held her tighter at this confession. "For weeks when I was in London."

"Oh, Belle," he whispered into her hair. He just wanted to save her again, but there was nothing left to save her from.

"It was torture to be alone with my thoughts like that," she continued. "My wedding was off, I had no friends left, and it just felt like my life was over. So when they let me go, I went to the apothecary and I bought some arsenic and…"

She sniffled and dissolved into tears with her cheek buried in his neck, but he could imagine the rest well enough.

"There's no shame in that," he replied quietly, cradling her tighter. "Nobody could blame you for it."

"I just couldn't face it anymore," she said. "And then when I came back here it was months of nothingness and despair and then suddenly you showed up and you wanted to marry me and that was the first time anyone let me choose anything in so long...I chose to marry you and to love you and be here and I don't regret it."

"I'm glad," he replied earnestly. "I don't regret it either."

"I just wanted you to know," she said, sniffling a little but sounding calmer. "I just...I think being back there brought back a lot of the memories and emotions."

"So we have them over later," he said. "When you're feeling up to company we'll send a note."

She nodded and he had the urge to wrap her up in his arms and never let anything tragic ever befall her again, but he could hear the change in the sound of the wheels as they began traveling up the drive, and he helped her back to the bench before pulling himself up next to her. She was dabbing her face with a handkerchief and she was so beautiful and strong.

"I do love you," she replied as the carriage began to slow. "I know we had a rough start, but I don't regret this."

"I love you too," he replied, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead. "And I don't regret it, either."


	29. That Would Be Enough

"Well, that could have gone better," Gaston said once the Golds had left. Ruby had to agree with his assessment of the situation, but she wasn't entirely sure what had happened. She had the distinct feeling that she was missing something big.

"I don't understand," Lord Maurice said, sounding more than a little dazed. "She was better. The last time I saw her she was _better_."

Nobody spoke for a long time, and finally Ruby exchanged a look with her grandmother, prompting the older woman to announce she needed to lay down. Lord Maurice excused himself soon after and Ruby was finally left alone with her fiance.

"You lied to me," she said simply. "Or at least, you didn't tell me the whole story about your cousin."

"I didn't lie," he replied defensively. "I told you she had a nervous disposition."

"You didn't tell me she couldn't handle loud noises," Ruby said. "Or that she couldn't carry on a conversation. And her husband hardly took his eyes off her the entire time. He knew something was wrong, and so did you and your uncle. And while we're on the subject, how does a Viscount's daughter - a young and pretty one at that - end up married to an untitled man old enough to be her father? You didn't tell me something."

He didn't argue; he simply sat there looking guilty for a few minutes.

"I need to know what is going on," Ruby continued. "Whatever it is can't be too terrible, can it?"

"You're right," he said with a sigh. "I did hold something back, but I'd hoped once you met Belle she'd make such a good impression that you wouldn't judge her."

"Judge her for _what?_" Ruby said, frustrated. Were men always so difficult?

"You know I was engaged to Belle before her marriage to Mr. Gold," he replied and she nodded. "But the reason it was broken is that Belle, well, she was compromised about six months before the wedding."

That made some sense - it certainly explained her choice of husband at least - but it didn't explain her jumping at shadows and the way everyone else had known to watch for it. Ruby wasn't naive; she had been in business a long time and that had brought her into contact with people she otherwise might not have known and she had never seen a compromised bride who had that same haunted look in her eyes.

"What precisely do you mean by 'compromised?'" she asked, already beginning to suspect.

"We were at a house party," he said slowly as though dreading what came next. "And a man forced himself on her when she was alone. She's been a little...erratic ever since."

Suddenly, the entire situation made sense. Everything from his fishing for a bride in the States (and his obvious discomfort in doing so) to his easy acceptance of her prior engagement to the broken plate still on the floor of the parlour.

"So you were afraid I'd say no to your proposal if I knew about your cousin," Ruby said before he could admit it himself. Not that she particularly blamed him for trying to cover it up, but his fear had been entirely unwarranted.

"Are you very angry?" he asked her, and a part of her was, but mostly she just felt pity for him for having been so afraid of this and for his cousin who had obviously been seriously damaged by the whole affair.

"I'm annoyed you kept it a secret for so long," she said. "And maybe I should be angry, but honestly I hadn't been interested in the social benefits of marrying you to begin with, I was only ever going through with this so I could be married to _you,_ you silly man."

He smiled and went to take her hand but she snatched it away playfully.

"I'm still peeved at you," she scolded him teasingly. "And you're going to have to make it up to me before I let you back into my good graces."

"Of course," he replied gallantly. "Whatever you like, it shall be done."

"Oh shall it?" she replied. "Well, first things first, I'm going to need you to introduce me to the horses because I am in dire need of a ride. And on the way, you're going to tell me about every other with a tragic past you have."

He smiled and this time she let him take her hand and tuck it into the crook of his arm so he could lead her to the stables. At least now all his cards were finally in the table, and if this was the worst skeleton her fiance had in his closet, then she was going to count herself lucky.

oOo

Belle almost felt silly by the time they got home. Rhys' reassurance that he had no intention of having her locked up in the attic like a madwoman had given her an intense feeling of relief. When the carriage had stopped, Rhys stepped out to help her down.

"Would you like to take a nap?" he asked her.

"Will you come with me?" she replied, not wanting to be apart from him just yet.

"Anything you like," he said, following her up the stairs and waiting quietly by the door while she sent Lizzie out of the room.

"Can you help me with my dress?" she asked, turning to let him see the row of tiny buttons running up her back.

Rhys nodded and came behind her and she felt him work on the closures carefully.

"How in the hell does Lizzie manage these?" he asked at length. "There are so many of them!"

"Very carefully I'd imagine," Belle replied cheekily. "Though if you're nice to me I may show you where the buttonhook is."

He growled a little and she caught a long suffering look in the mirror that had her smiling at him. She took pity and retrieved the tool from its place on her vanity.

Once he was properly equipped, he made quick work of her dress and corset, leaving her in her chemise and stockings. From there, she turned around and unbuttoned his jacket and waistcoat, draping both over the changing screen along with her gown. He removed his own cufflinks and she guided him to sit on the stool of the vanity so she could help him take off his shoes. It was a quiet sort of intimacy to help him undress, even if it was just down to his shirtsleeves.

Belle led him into her bed without a hint of anxiety, and she marveled a bit at the realization that she harbored no fear of him. The past few days since they had finally consummated their marriage had been filled with so much emotion that she hadn't even had time to notice it but here she was, sure of her safety and her love of him in spite of everything else.

Once they were under the covers she curled up to him instantly. Even from the beginning, she had always found Rhys' scent soothed her, and she needed soothing. He was warm and comfortable and she loved him so much it felt like her heart might burst with it sometimes.

"Will you tell me a story?" she asked once she was comfortably settled. "I like listening to your voice."

And he comforted her, and she was still a little on edge.

"I don't know any stories, sweetheart," he said softly, rubbing her back slowly.

"Didn't you ever read to Neal when he was a boy?"

"Of course," he replied. "But I hope you understand why I might not want to tell my wife about Goldilocks or Red Riding Hood."

She hummed a little in acknowledgment of what he'd said, but another thought had come to her now.

"Do you want more children?" she asked him.

"Why do you ask?"

"You've never really given me a straight answer about them," she replied honestly. "And I'm your wife, I feel like I have a stake in the matter."

He sighed deeply, pulling her tighter to him.

"I'm much older than you," he said at last, as though she hadn't realized that.

"So?"

"I won't be here forever, my love."

"I know," she said, although it was something she tried not to think about as much as possible. "But I'm not sure what that has to do with children."

"I just hate the idea of you being left to raise them by yourself," he said. "Or of them being left alone if something were to happen to you."

"I wouldn't be alone," she replied. "I have my family and we have enough money to support them regardless. And I'm sure Neal wouldn't let his siblings starve anyway, even if I did die."

He seemed to be casting about for an argument to give to that, so she continued.

"And in any respect," she said as she sat up on her elbows to face him. "Do you really think I'll miss you less when you're gone if we never have any children?"

"I don't," he admitted. "But they certainly won't make it easier."

"I'm going to be devastated either way," she replied. "But I _want_ to have children with you. I like the idea of them - of us, really. I like the idea of being a proper family and of a baby who's a mix of the two of us. In any event, I'm not saying I want a dozen of them or even to have them tomorrow. I just want to know that maybe at some point in the future we could have one or two. I'm sure you were a wonderful father, and I'd like to see that."

He nodded but didn't reply beyond wrapping her in his arms and pulling her back into his chest.

"If you don't want to, just say so," she continued. "I just want to know where we stand."

"I'm not saying no," he replied. "If you want children and understand my concerns, then I won't second guess you."

"Really?" she asked. "You're sure?"

"I am," he said gently. "I certainly won't be the oldest man to ever father a child at any rate."

She smiled and snuggled into him again.

"I do understand," she replied. "But knowing you won't be here someday just makes me want to make the most of whatever time we _do_ have, because I know it won't ever be enough."

He tipped her chin up and leaned down to kiss her tenderly.

"Let's not rush, though?" he said softly. "I do like just having you to myself for right now."

"I can wait," she replied. "Though I'm not entirely sure how you plan to go about doing that if we're going to be...intimate. Don't children just come when they come?"

He smiled at her indulgently and kissed her again.

"There are things we can try," he said at last. "Different devices, or me not finishing inside of you. We can discuss them later, though. For now, I believe I was promised a nap."

She sighed and grumbled and pretended like she was put out by the request before settling her head against his shoulder and letting the sound of his breathing lull her to sleep.

oOo

Rhys didn't sleep as Belle dozed. Instead, he watched over her and thought about what she'd said. It was strange to think about having children again. It hadn't been something he'd really thought about _before_ Belle, but now that the idea had been presented to him he was becoming more and more attached to it. He didn't want to get his hopes up, because Belle did have a tendency to react to moments of fear or stress by trying to push forward with some other aspect of her life, but this wasn't the first time she'd mentioned wanting children and if she was really serious about it then they would decide on that in a few months or so when it came up again.

For now, though, he was content to just have her safe and sound and the hope of another child. He'd loved being a father the first time, and this time Belle would be there, too. The thought of her as a mother was lovely. She was affectionate and patient; he'd seen her with Grace. She would be amazing at it if this was what she really wanted. He wouldn't delude himself into thinking that Belle was better by any means - she had been sobbing in his arms on the floor of a carriage for fear he'd have her committed not two hours ago - but she was better than she had been when they had first married, and for right now he was satisfied with that. She didn't have nightmares every day anymore, and her bad days didn't seem quite as bad as they had been. If all that ever happened was that she began to get better, that would be enough.

The news that she'd been locked away after she'd been hurt hadn't been as surprising as it should have been. It made a fair amount of sense given her agoraphobia and the way she paced incessantly when she was nervous. He hated to think of that happening to her, because she had such an active mind and the idea of her being trapped away in a room somewhere with no books or any access to the outside world...the fact that she'd tried to kill herself was hardly unexpected. He didn't think he'd have had her emotional fortitude in the same position. He'd never let that happen to her again. If he couldn't promise her anything else, he could promise that. She'd never be locked away as long as he had any say in the matter.

There was a strand of hair that had fallen across Belle's lips in her sleep, and he brushed it away. She stirred a little and opened her eyes drowsily.

"Hey," she said. "How long did I sleep?"

"Not long," he replied. "Maybe half an hour."

"Oh, well I feel a lot better," she said. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being here," she said, resting her chin on his chest to look at him. "And taking care of me when I'm sad."

"You don't have to thank me for that," he said, brushing her hair back from her face again. "I believe there was something in the vows about love, honor, and protect."

She sighed languidly and gave him a smile that was so pretty he felt his heart skip a beat.

"You are truly splendid," he said. "Absolutely entrancing."

"Fascinating?" she said teasingly, letting her fingers trace along the column of buttons on his shirt.

"Radiant," he replied. "Transcendent."

She giggled and rolled on top of him, kissing him sweetly before sitting up so she was straddling his hips.

"What else?" she asked, her fingers beginning to work the buttons of his shirt open.

His mouth went dry when he realized what she wanted, and he was about to ask her if she was sure this was what she wanted, but she'd had enough of people refusing to accept her choices. He wouldn't be yet another person telling her that she didn't know her own mind.

"Dazzling," he said as she began working his shirt off. "Stunning, exquisite, graceful…"

"I have the names of _several_ dance instructors who might argue that last one," she replied before moving down to work his trousers open.

"It's a different kind of grace," he tried to explain through the distraction of his trousers coming off and his cock deciding to spring to attention. "You're graceful like a bird or a river. Like a breeze."

"Do you even know what you're saying?" she said with a laugh that lit up her face.

"No idea," he admitted. "But I do love watching you."

Belle was straddling his hips again and he felt the silk of her stockings against his sides and he was so in love with her. He had his hands pressed against the headboard, but she ran her hands up his arms to pull them down, setting his palms on her legs.

"I want you to touch me this time," she said, blushing and not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not afraid of you."

He slid his hands up her thighs to caress her hips. She was caught in a beam of light and she looked ethereal as she traced her fingers across his chest and his belly, seemingly fascinated by him for some reason. He massaged her thighs gently, finding her garters and picking at them gently until the ribbons came undone.

"Will you take off your shift?" he asked, and she nodded and cast it off quickly. He didn't think he could ever get tired of looking at her, especially as she rose up on her knees and lowered herself over him slowly.

He couldn't believe his luck that she'd somehow decided there was something in him worth loving and _wanting._ It defied all logic, and yet here she was. He moved his hand tentatively towards her center and when she didn't flinch or startle, he started stroking her as she rode him. He drew her towards her peak even as he came closer and closer to his own climax. It was all he could do to hold on as she shook over him and collapsed at his side, leaving him to finish himself by hand.

When they were both spent and satisfied, he held her in his arms and kept the world away for just a little bit longer. He didn't know how many years he'd have with Belle, but he didn't intend to waste any of them.


	30. To Be Alone

It was the better part of a week before Belle felt up to entertaining. She'd been sharing more than her bed with her husband, and every time was less scary than the time before. Maybe the first time hadn't made her better, but the repetition of doing something that had terrified her so completely for the better part of a year (and which had always been the cause of a bit of anxiety before that) did make her feel stronger and braver. Belle hadn't known she could be brave enough, and now here she was. There was no telling whether or not she could have gotten through it without Rhys, but maybe she could have. Maybe it was something innate to her, and she'd have survived even without his help.

Rhys had been ridiculously patient with her, though. He was gentle and kind, and no matter whether or not she could have come so far without him, she knew having him had made it easier. That thought itself gave her the strength to come to terms with her new relation.

"I think I'd like to invite my cousin and Miss Lucas to tea tomorrow," she said as she read in his office. She didn't usually invade his personal spaces, but lately she hated being apart from him so long during the day, and it felt easier to follow him than to ask him to come to her.

She was braced to defend the choice and insist she wasn't feeling quite so blindsided anymore and would be better able to handle the experience in her own home, but he didn't argue her choice.

"Whatever you like," he said with a shrug. "Just tell me when to expect them."

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek before going upstairs to pen a note of invitation and then to find the cook to tell her they would be expecting guests the next day. This would really be the first time Belle had been a proper hostess in this home. She'd had visitors at her father's house before, but it felt different when it was _her_ home.

By the time Grace returned with the news that the invitation had been accepted, Belle had already spoken with the servants and chosen a gown. All that was left to do was try not to panic.

Belle prepared for this tea with the same attention to detail she imagined she'd have put into planning an invasion. After the abysmal first impression she was sure she'd made on Miss Lucas, there was no doubt that everything needed to be perfect. She'd chosen a gown in white eyelet and a light colored jacket with a rose print. Once her hair was pinned up she looked every inch the perfect hostess. She trusted the staff, but she'd still made Lizzie double check that the cup she'd accidentally chipped after her wedding hadn't been included in the set. Rhys had insisted on not throwing it out, which had been sweet (and perhaps a little bizarre) of him, but she didn't want anything to be less than perfect for this meeting.

It was probably an overreaction to be this exacting about a second meeting with this woman, but just being able to focus on it made her feel like she had some power over it, so she focused on it and it kept her going until she heard the carriage in the drive and dashed into the drawing room with some embroidery to look like she hadn't been waiting impatiently for their arrival. It felt like ages before Gaston and Miss Lucas were shown in, but Belle was instantly alert, rising to greet them as graciously as possible.

"Thank you so much for coming," she said as soon as greetings had been exchanged and everyone was seated. "It's always nice to have people over."

Also this would be the first visitors she'd had the pleasure of actually _inviting_ to the house. Nobody would come over besides her family, and her father preferred to see her in his home rather than hers.

"Thank you for inviting us," Miss Lucas - who was insisting Belle call her Ruby - said. "It's so nice to know someone my own age here."

Belle felt a pang of a strange sort of homesickness at the statement, because there were a few other women she was sure Ruby would love to meet but she had no way to make the introductions anymore. At least, no way to do so that would actually endear Ruby to the neighborhood. She'd become a recluse and an outcast, and to be honest she wasn't sure anymore that she minded it. There was a certain amount of peace to be found in a quiet life away from distractions. She was beginning to understand the ascetics who had wandered through the desert.

"It must be difficult," Belle said. "I imagine in America you weren't lacking for amusement?"

"No," Ruby replied. "But to be honest, I spent most of my time working."

It was on the tip of Belle's tongue to ask what she'd meant by that, but Rhys arrived and the whole round of greetings had to begin again.

By the time everyone was settled back into their chairs, she'd lost her train of thought, but luckily Rhys was there to pick up the pieces for her.

"Have you been settling well?" he asked Ruby. "Have you had time to look into new distributors yet?"

"Not yet," Ruby replied. "But the wedding has been taking up so much of my time lately. I imagine after that and the honeymoon there will be plenty of time to look into that later."

This was news to Belle, but she imagined they'd probably talked about it at the last meeting where she'd been so distracted. The important thing was just for her to hang on and feign knowledge of their conversation and get Rhys to tell her what she'd missed later. They went into a bit more depth about business things that largely went over her head. She knew about investments and could talk fluently about her father's finances, but Belle was of a class that didn't have much to do with the day to day operations of companies. Ruby, apparently, ran one.

A quick glance told her Gaston was similarly in over his head, but he was watching Ruby with a soft smile on his face and Belle knew in that moment that he had somehow found the right woman for him, even if he'd had to go across the Atlantic to do it. Somehow, that made it easier to let go of her resentment at being replaced. He'd found someone who made him happier than she ever could have, and Belle had found that same love in Rhys that she would have been denied in Gaston.

When her cousin had first left for America, Belle had made the conscious decision to try to love her husband, and yet there had been a part of her that was still clinging to a hope of a better past. She couldn't undo what had happened or how she had been changed, but she was more determined than ever to push forward. Ruby was her own age and didn't shun her, and that was a relationship worth pursuing as much as she had pursued Rhys. She owed it to herself, at least, to try.

The tea only lasted about an hour or so before Gaston and Ruby had to take their leave, but Belle felt like it had gone better than before. She'd managed to engage in some of the conversation after it had turned away from business. She was exhausted from the effort, but after retiring to her room to lay down she was surprised to realize that it was a good kind of tired. She had a life here with a husband she loved and companionship from Lizzie and Grace, but it would be nice to have a peer to call on if the mood struck. It would be nice to have a friend.

Ruby and Gaston rode back from the Gold's house in a strange sort of quiet. She didn't know him well enough yet to know all her fiance's moods, but she could tell something was bothering him almost as soon as they got in the carriage.

"A penny for your thoughts?" She said at last, hoping to break the tension.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm sure I'm awful company."

"Not at all," she replied. "I was just wondering what could have you so worked up. I thought we had a lovely time."

"No, we did," he said. "I just always feel a bit sorry for how things worked out for Belle."

"Oh," she said. Men really were the strangest creatures. "Why on Earth do you feel sorry for her? She seems happy enough."

"She had to marry beneath her," he replied. "She could have done so much better before, even aside from me."

"Maybe it's because I'm American, but I really don't understand all this fuss about Belle marrying 'beneath' herself," Ruby said in a huff. "For goodness sake, he's financially secure - more so than you, I might add - he dotes on her terribly, they have a beautiful home, and they love each other. How much better was she supposed to marry?"

"How can you be sure of all that?"

"Because I have eyes," she replied teasingly. "He looks at her like he can't believe she's really there, and when he comes into the room her face lights up like a child at Christmas. You saw her, she was almost lost when he wasn't there and as soon as he arrived she instantly settled down. They're ridiculously happy. "

He didn't answer her after that, but he had the most relieved look on his face for the entire ride home. Really, how had he not noticed any of that himself? It had been plain as day if you were looking for it.

By the time they arrived home he was cheerful again. He kissed her hand and excused himself. That was fine by Ruby, though. She had correspondence to get through and a wedding still to plan and she didn't have time for ridiculous men.

He hadn't warned her about his cousin in the first place, and now he hadn't noticed the girl was happily married. Ruby had her own history, though, and she was sick and tired of the hypocrisy of social stations. Gaston was marrying her for both love and money, and yet he was lamenting his cousin's marriage to similarly new money. Did he even realize how little a difference there was between them?

The next time Belle invited Ruby for tea, the other woman came alone. Rhys dropped in for a bit, but excused himself fairly early on, claiming he'd had a letter to write and Belle was left alone with a woman she wasn't employing for the first time in nearly a year. The conversation inevitably stalled.

"How have you enjoyed the country so far?" Belle asked. "I imagine it must be quite the change."

"So far it's lovely," she replied. "Everyone has been very kind."

"I'm glad," Belle said. And she was glad - mostly glad, anyway. She didn't wish ill upon Ruby, at any rate, but Belle was very familiar with the 'kindness' one could expect if you fell outside your strictly proscribed role. She must have worn some of her conflict on her face, because Ruby set down her cup and turned to her fully.

"I hope you don't think I'm being too forward," Ruby said. "But you don't like me very much, do you?"

Belle's first instinct was to feign offense and deny the allegation, but that wasn't going to help the situation. she really had no idea what to say in response, though. She honestly had no real idea how she felt at all.

"It's all right if you don't," Ruby continued. "But I'd rather just have it acknowledged so that we can move on."

"It's not that, Belle blurted out. She instantly regretted her outburst, but Ruby was now looking at her and waiting for a continuation. "I don't always do well with new people. I don't know how much Gaston said about me, but I'm...damaged."

"I know enough," Ruby replied. "I certainly don't think badly of _you_ for what happened."

"Then I sincerely doubt he told you the whole story," Belle replied. She didn't want to be having this conversation and it was taking all her willpower to remain calm in the face of it.

"Like I said, he told me enough," Ruby said. "If you want to tell me more, that's your business, but I certainly don't need details of any of it. I just want you to know that I'm not looking for reasons to dislike you. You're about to become my closest female relative aside from my grandmother."

She sounded so earnest, and Belle wanted to believe her but she couldn't quite bring herself to risk another heartbreak. The fact that Ruby didn't seem at all disturbed by Belle's situation just made her all the more convinced that the other woman didn't actually understand the worst of it, but what good could telling her do? Belle couldn't stand to see someone learn the truth. She'd had enough shunning, she didn't need more.

"You're not going to make any friends here because of me, you know," Belle said. "I'm sure he didn't tell you that I was a regular feature in the London tabloids. I probably still am, but I stopped reading them. What did they say about me, again? I'm 'a lady in name only' and 'a scheming harlot.' I have no reputation left to speak of."

Ruby shrugged and picked her cup back up.

"I'm not going to tell you that you're wrong," she replied. "But to be honest, I just don't see how any of that should be relevant to us being friends."

There wasn't really an answer to that besides just believing the worst about everyone, and Belle couldn't bring herself to admit to that yet.

"I'm not an idiot," Ruby continued with a shrug. "I know people here think I'm vulgar and new money. People thought that back at home, too. Honestly, people are always going to look for a reason to judge women like us. I'm certainly not going to contribute to that."

Belle knew she should be grateful for the sentiment, but something Ruby had said caught her attention.

"'Women like us?'" she asked.

"Women with pasts," Ruby replied easily. "Women with broken hearts. I certainly didn't spring up from seafoam like Aphrodite at twenty-two with a fortune and a shipping company, after all."

Some little piece of Belle's heart felt so relieved at that statement that she had to remind herself to breathe. Rhys had accepted her as she was, and now so had Ruby. She wasn't entirely unlovable, was she?

Belle decided to befriend Ruby after that. After all, if the other woman would be taking over for a life Belle had been preparing for since she had been a girl, then maybe Belle owed it to herself and her family to make the transition smoother. It was one last services she could perform for the estate and the tenants, and then she could retire away to the peace and quiet of the little house and start a family.

Truthfully, she was very much looking forward to the peace and quiet. It had hurt to have been replaced, but it hurt less now that she'd met the other woman. For one thing, she did like Ruby. The American was brash, talkative, and seemed very much inclined to like Belle. For another, Belle was _happy_ with her husband. She wouldn't go so far as to be happy that she'd been _hurt_, but she was happy that Rhys had been there afterward. What she really wished was that there was some way she could have had Rhys and never have encountered Nottingham. She would have easily accepted all the other things she'd lost if only she could have been spared that one.

Ruby became a frequent visitor at the house, though Belle still avoided visiting her. It was taking some work to explain to the finer points of survival in a country manor. Ruby was accustomed to hot and cold running water and electric lighting, neither of which were luxuries available in her new home. Belle herself had only ever seen electric lights in a few ballrooms, and wasn't even sure if anything but gas lighting was even available this far away from London. It was obviously taking some adjustment for the American.

Sometimes Belle wasn't even sure that her new friend really grasped the nuance of Belle's precarious social situation. Maybe things worked differently in America - and Belle had certainly heard rumors that Americans were uncouth - or maybe Ruby was just kind, but it was becoming difficult to find new ways to explain why she couldn't go into the village or come to call on someone with her. The wedding was sure to be a sticking point as well. It was only a few weeks away and Ruby couldn't understand why Belle was so reluctant to go. For her part, Belle _wanted_ to go, but she didn't want to risk causing a scene and she didn't want to expose Ruby and Gaston to censure.

Belle was still feeling conflicted a few days after the initial conversation about it as she sat in the hip tub and cleaned herself. Her hair was already washed and piled on top of her head waiting to be combed and dried. Maybe after all this was over she'd get her husband to take her to Bath so she could take in the waters. It had been a long time since she'd been last and all Ruby's talk of the amenities in America had Belle aching to be submerged in warm water. Perhaps she could even talk him into adding modern plumbing to the house. It was a luxury she very much missed from London.

There had to be some sort of solution to the question of attending Gaston's marriage, didn't there? She'd really like to go, but she didn't quite trust herself to be amongst all that pomp and grandeur with people who would be waiting to see if she would lose control and no ability to gracefully remove herself if she did. She was just so tired of everything being so _hard_.

She heard a knock on the door and she called for them to come in. It was likely Lizzie, and she scarcely had time to realize that even a few months ago her first reaction would have been fear when she heard Rhys' voice call her name from the other side of the screen. This was entirely uncharted territory for them. He'd seen her naked, but he'd never seen her like this with her hair tied up in a scarf on the top of her head as she got clean. He'd only ever seen her when she had prepared herself to be _seen_.

"Just a minute," she called back, getting to her feet and trying herself off with a cloth that had been left hanging on the privacy screen.

"I can come back," he replied. "I didn't know you were bathing."

"I was almost done," she said, peeking her head around the screen to get her first good look at her husband since he'd left her room that morning. The sight of him standing there looking oddly uncomfortable put a smile on her face. "Can you hand me that dressing gown on the vanity?"

He grabbed it quickly and handed her the plain blue robe. It wasn't one she usually wore in front of him, because it wasn't particularly pretty. It was a worn flannel with a little bit of eyelet lace at the cuffs and collar but otherwise it was unadorned. But it was soft and warm and wouldn't be ruined by the water on her skin.

"What can I do for you?" she said as she crossed the room to sit at her vanity. Not that she wasn't happy to see him, but he never came to her rooms during the day and rarely sought her out in the rest of the house before dinner.

Belle carefully untied the cloth from around her head and set about combing her hair with her ivory comb while she awaited her answer. She really only had so long to get it untangled before it dried, and honestly she liked the idea of him being in the room with her as she did it. She trusted him, but there was still sometimes a little flash of anxiety at his presence. It was becoming something she could control, though, and that was a sensation she revelled in. It had been so long since she'd been able to control it.

"I got a letter from Neal," he said, sitting in one of the reading chairs she had in the room. "He's hit a snag with one of his prospective distributors."

"Oh?"

"Indeed," he replied. "Apparently one of them wants to meet with me personally. I don't know why, but I'm sure it's something ridiculous."

"So you have to go to London," she finished for him. "For how long?"

"I don't know," he replied. "It could just be a few days or it could be a month or so. It depends on what he wants."

She set her comb back down and took a deep breath to steady herself before she continued.

"When do you need to leave?"

"As soon as possible," he said. "Tomorrow, if I can manage it."

The news hit her hard. She'd been hoping to ask his help with the wedding dilemma, and now he was leaving her for some untold amount of time. Her mind flashed back to the early days of their marriage and the lonely weeks by herself in the house with only servants. She didn't want to go through all that again, not when they were so close.

"Do you really have to go?" she asked, though she knew he wouldn't have told her about it if he didn't. "I'll miss you."

"I know, sweetheart," he replied, looking grieved. "I can probably put it off a day or so, and I'll try to finish as soon as possible, but I'm afraid it can't be avoided. This is crucial to his expansion."

She felt the crushing disappointment pressing in on her like she was drowning. She didn't want to be alone again, and maybe she didn't have to.

"Can I come with you?" she asked as evenly as she could.

Rhys looked a little dumbstruck and it was all she could do to pretend like the question itself hadn't cost her. She couldn't meet his eyes, so she picked up her comb and carefully began to comb her hair again.

"If that's what you want," he said at last. "You're certainly more than welcome."

"I'll need a day to pack," she said. "And I'll need to hire the Sells girl to come with me to do my hair for the duration. I can't get away with the same styles in London that I do here."

"Whatever you like," he said, coming to kiss the top of her head. "I'll write to Neal and tell him when to expect us."

And, she was sure, he would also be warning Neal that she'd be in attendance. He left quietly and she held herself together until the door was shut and she could finally have a moment of panic. She couldn't regret this choice. That was the important thing. She was tired of being a prisoner of her own mind and she didn't want to be afraid anymore. If she could face London, she could face anything - the wedding, Bath, and the entire rest of her life. She wanted all those things, and she needed to know she was ready. This would be the ultimate test of how far she'd come.


	31. Still Something Left To Save

In the end, their departure had only been delayed by a day. Rhys was a little unsure about Belle accompanying him to London, but he wasn't going to let her know that. In the worst case, she could always go back home if it proved too much for her and she was in a much better position than she'd ever been before. She would have her maid and her dog, and she'd received a promise from her Miss Lucas that they would correspond frequently. There was nothing else he could offer her to make this easier, and she seemed to have set her mind on it.

She was petting the puppy idly as it napped in her lap, and he wondered if she'd be twisting her handkerchief lace in her fingers as she'd done after their wedding. It was impossible to read her mood in her face as she watched the countryside through the window, but he wished he could. More than that, though, he wished that he'd not had to return to the city. There was no telling what could happen and that, more than anything else, scared him.

"I used to take this road several times a year, you know," she said at last. "We would go to London for the summer and then I'd return for the Christmas holidays."

"Did you?" he asked. He'd known as much, but if she wanted to talk, he wanted to hear her.

"It was always my favorite thing," she replied. "I used to love the trip. Just the anticipation of it all was so delicious. I'd be wondering which balls I'd be invited to and planning who to call on first."

He couldn't help but smile at the image of her as a young woman flitting about in pretty dresses without a single care in the world. He wished he'd known her better then, honestly. What sort of life did he really have to offer her compared to that? She was going to be completely outcast, and they both knew it. She sighed and went back to petting the puppy in silence, and he returned to watching her.

If it had been anyone but Isaac Heller, he never even would have come into the city in the first place; he'd have stayed in the country with Belle where it was safe. The other man required a lot of personal attention, but he was a good distributor with a lot of contacts and a strange affection for Rhys. But with Neal wanting to open up new markets, Isaac would be an instrumental part of this plan. If he was going to demand dealing personally with Rhys, then that's what he'd get.

It was a two day trip to London, and by the time they arrived at the inn that evening, Rhys was already exhausted and sore. Belle was still lovely, but perhaps a little wilted as she set the dog on the ground. Rhys slipped one of the stable lads a few coins and the boy gladly took the puppy and led her off to exercise while Rhys led his wife inside.

"Will she be all right?" Belle asked before they were even into their room.

"I'm sure she's fine," he replied. "And besides, the boy could probably use a little extra money."

She nodded and went to the basin and began washing her face and hands.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I can order supper to be brought up, or we can go downstairs to eat if you'd prefer."

"No," she said. "I think I'd rather eat up here. I'm tired and I just want to rest."

He was of much the same opinion, and it was only a matter of minutes to call for the maid and have her sent to retrieve dinner for them. Rhys tried to find something to distract himself with while his wife let her hair down and started braiding it for the night. He'd always found this process to be fascinating, though Belle had only just begun to feel comfortable with him watching her. He wondered if it hurt to have her hair in pins all day, because she always seemed to relax after she took it down each night, but for some reason he didn't really want to ask. It was a strange little bit of intimacy that he hated to ruin by asking things.

She was tying a ribbon around the end of her braid when there was a knock at the door. He went to it, letting in the maid he'd sent down for food along with another one who was leading Rose into the room after her walk with the stable boy. The puppy was happily tugging at the end of her lead, seemingly unable to decide if she was more interested in returning to her mistress or following the maid carrying food. Rhys opted to make the decision for her, scooping the dog up and holding her as the girl with the tray set the food carefully on the table and left. It looked like they'd be eating lamb and potatoes, and the girl had even brought a plate of scrap pieces for the dog.

"It smells good," Belle said once they were alone, coming to take her pet from his arms. "Hello sweetheart, did you miss me?"

Rose wagged her tail and licked Belle's face excitedly. They made a pretty picture together, and he felt like an outsider in this little tableau but somehow here he was. Belle had come along solely because she hadn't wanted to be away from him. It was mind boggling, but it was true. She was smiling at him and he went over to kiss her cheek and hopefully break himself out of some of his odd mood.

Rose squirmed a little and Belle set her down on the floor with her dinner before sitting herself.

"We should be in London this time tomorrow," he announced as he joined his wife at the table for lack of anything better to say. "I'll be with you the first day, but I don't know how much I'll be working after."

"I'm sure I can find something to keep me amused," she replied easily. "There's plenty to do in London."

He wasn't sure exactly what she had planned, but didn't know how to gently question her about it. He didn't really know what her usual amusements had been before, or which ones would be available to her now. Belle likely knew that, though. She'd probably been through all the variables over and over again already.

"Who will you be meeting with?" she asked him.

"His name is Isaac Heller," Rhys said. "He sells fabric abroad and now that Neal is expanding the business we need to ensure that his distributors will be selling the new fabric. Isaac specifically requested to discuss it with me."

"Oh," she said, seeming to consider this information for a bit. "Should we invite him for dinner, then?"

He hadn't really considered that, but of course his wife would. She'd hosted more than a few dinners in her father's house, at least two of which he'd been in attendance for. She was a brilliant hostess, and he wished she had more chances to show it.

"If you think you'd like to have him over," he replied. "I'll leave that decision to you."

She nodded and went back to her food for a moment, and he thought the conversation was over until she looked back at him and spoke.

"I'd like to," she said. "It might help, and I can manage well enough."

"All right," he said. "I'll make the arrangements as soon as we get to town."

The rest of the meal was small talk, and by the time they'd eaten both were too exhausted to do much more than collapse into bed and get whatever sleep they could before climbing back into the carriage.

oOo

Not a week after Belle and her husband went to London, Ruby hosted her first tea. Gaston had decided to make himself scarce. He had never been one of those men with an easy charm who could keep a room enthralled with his witty conversation, and tea with veritable strangers had never been a particular hobby of his. Instead, he had gone out riding while Ruby met the village matrons.

While he could be awkward around people he didn't know well, Ruby was brilliant in conversation with nearly anybody. She was witty and charming and could hold the attention of a room. So it had come as a bit of a shock to find her in the parlour on his return visibly angry and swearing under her breath as she stabbed a needle into what was probably once an embroidered handkerchief.

"Did I come at a bad time?" He asked her, wondering what could possibly have upset her so much in a single afternoon.

"Those women are harridans," Ruby spat. "Just awful, the whole lot of them."

He'd known to expect some judgment about Ruby's nationality, but so had she. What could they possibly have said to her?

"What happened?" He asked, sitting next to her and " he said, sitting next to her. "Are they upset because you're American?"

"What?" she said, looking at him in confusion for a second. "Who said anything about me being American?"

Gaston had no idea what to say to that. She was obviously in the middle of a conversation he hadn't been present for the beginning of.

"Start over, please," he said at last. "Why are you upset?"

"Those…" she said before being reduced to growly noises as though trying and failing to find an epithet. "They politely suggested I might want to reconsider my friendship with your cousin because with my social limitations, I shouldn't add to them by associating with women of loose moral fiber. Those hideous shrews!"

She stabbed her needle into the embroidery again and tossed it onto the table. He didn't know whether he was more upset that she'd been subject to that or overjoyed that her concern was for his cousin and not the neighborhood. He'd always liked her grit and he was now learning there was more of it to like.

"Do we really have to have them at the wedding?" she said in a huff. "I don't need them there and I don't want them there."

"I'm afraid it might be too late to uninvite them," he said. "At least without causing an even bigger scandal later."

"You're sure?" she said with a pout. "At least now I know why Belle was so reticent about coming."

"Belle isn't always reliable around crowds," he explained. "But you're right that she'd have been the subject of a lot of attention."

"We could just elope," Ruby replied. "Honestly, at this point I just never want to see them again."

"You're serious?" he asked. "The wedding is in less than a month."

"It doesn't have to be," she said. "There's still time to send out announcements afterward and I just don't think I want to have these people here for it. I don't like them and I don't think you do, either."

"I don't," he admitted. "But what about your grandmother?"

"Oh she'll be fine," Ruby replied. "Anyway, you're not marrying her."

She had a point, and he wasn't even sure why he was arguing with her. He didn't want a big wedding any more than she did. They'd only really been going along with a wedding because it was what they'd been expected to do. But they didn't really have to do it, did they? He'd been doing things he didn't want to do for his entire life, but he had a choice this time and she was right. He'd never wanted a big wedding, and if Ruby didn't either then what was the point of going through with one in the first place?

oOo

Belle had settled nicely into Neal's house. In the mornings, she woke early with Rhys, and when he left with Neal to do whatever it was they did at the factory, she would take Rose for a walk. The fashionable people would be asleep for hours yet, but she wanted to avoid her old friends as long as she reasonably could. However, there were parts of her old life that were not totally lost to her, and she fully intended to reclaim whatever bits of herself she could.

Hyde Park had always been a particular favorite of hers, and as long as they were in London she might as well take the dog for her walks here as anywhere else. Lizzie stayed by the carriage with a footman while Belle strolled nearby with the puppy. Belle hadn't let the maid too far away from her maid for much of this trip. She hadn't wanted to be alone since they'd arrived in London, and Lizzie was the only person she knew in town anymore, but being outside had always helped calm her and this was no exception. It was so easy to pretend that she was a debutante again, wishing to be seen and talked over, and not a young bride who just wanted to be ignored.

Rose was definitely going to need more training about not pulling on her leash if she was ever going to pass as one of the pampered lapdogs of the city and not a half wild country pup. She was bred for this, though. Belle had every faith that the puppy could manage learning city manners. Perhaps Belle should have taken a firmer hand with her, but there was nothing for it now.

There was so much that Belle missed of the city, but she was at least glad that she'd discovered the joy of walking in the park in the early morning. Whenever she'd been in town before, she'd been one of the fashionable people staying out late and spending her mornings in bed. London was a very different place in the morning. There had been people travelling to work as her carriage had taken her to the park. Belle hadn't ever really thought about how many children in the city had jobs, but then she'd never thought much about the children in the country who were already in apprenticeships. Even Rhys employed a stable boy, and little Grace had been doing mending when she came to stay with them. And Belle did nothing. She'd never done anything of use or had a job of any sort. She could discuss the finer points of a dress and make conversation during a quadrille, but she had no real purpose in the world beyond that.

Lizzie rode with her in the carriage as they returned to Neal's house. Belle was watching out the window as they drove through town. They were on the outskirts when she noticed a woman standing nearby and clutching a basket in her hands. She seemed torn between heading into the crowd and turning back, and there was a brittleness in her posture that Belle felt deep in her soul.

"Stop the carriage," she blurted out, and before Lizzie even had time to respond, Belle was banging on the roof.

The carriage came to a halt and Belle practically lept out of it in her haste to get to the other woman. The girl was perhaps Belle's age, with dark hair and wide brown eyes that flinched the moment she registered Belle's approach.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Belle said, hoping to stall the inevitable retreat.

"Beg your pardon, m'lady," the woman said, ducking her head and moving back quickly. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry for startling you," Belle said, stopping a bit away. "What's your name?"

"Gwen," the other woman replied. "Short for Guinevere."

"That's a lovely name," Belle said. "I'm sorry, this must be terribly unusual. I just...saw you standing here and I realized all of a sudden that we need to hire a maid for our home. It's not in the city, you see. My husband and I are staying with his son in London for a few weeks but when we get home we'll need to replace the one we lost and I don't know anything about you but I do know that the country is a good place for starting over."

She tried to give her whatever meaning she could into the last two words. She didn't know a damn thing about this woman, but she knew what a lost soul looked like, and she knew what it felt like to have that darkness behind your eyes.

"Of course, I don't expect an answer right now," Belle continued when Gwen did nothing but stare at her dumbfounded. "Like I said, we'll be in town for another week or so. And even after we leave, my husband's son knows how to reach us," she fished into her reticule and pulled out her calling card and a pencil so she could scrawl Neal's address on the back before handing it out to Gwen. "Here, please let me know your decision."

"I will," Gwen said, taking the card with a shaking hand and glancing at it. "Thank you Mrs. Gold."

Belle could have collapsed with relief at the little note of hope in her voice. She nodded politely at the other woman and somehow stumbled back into the carriage where Lizzie was looking perplexed.

"Is everything all right?" Lizzie asked.

"Yes," Belle replied. "It's fine. I just...we never filled your old job, you know."

"I know," Lizzie said wryly. "I've been doing both."

"She's as good a candidate as any," Belle said.

"You can't save every broken soul," Lizzie said. "There's always going to be another one."

"Maybe so," Belle replied. "But I might be able to save that one."


	32. Business As Usual

"Oh relax, Gold," Isaac Heller said from across the desk in Neal's office. "I'm not here for your firstborn or anything. He's a little too old for that."

Rhys sighed. Isaac was a little difficult in the best of times, but Rhys didn't really even want to be in town, much less be petting the other man's ego. Rhys had brought his wife to town just a few days ago, and while she'd seemed to be content enough so far, he was still nervous about leaving her alone for too long. He just had to get through this meeting and he could return to Neal's house and his wife.

"Forgive my my bluntness," Rhys said. "But what precisely _was_ the point of calling me all the way here?"

"I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding, for one thing," Isaac replied, leaning back smugly. "I heard you married up."

Rhys had no idea how to reply. He wasn't sure what the other man knew about Belle, but he found it incredibly unlikely Isaac didn't at least have _some_ idea of what had befallen her and the situation behind their marriage. His jaw clenched as he mulled over his options - offending Isaac Heller could cost Neal and the company (and, by extension, Rhys) severely in the long run, but if the alternative was having his life dissected, it might be worth it.

"I'm not sure how that's any of your business," Rhys said at last.

"Hey, I'm not judging," Isaac replied quickly. "I never liked that Nottingham brat, and his father wasn't much better. Cheated me on an investment once, you know."

"You don't say," Rhys said, searching for any other topic of conversation. As much as he disliked Nottingham and everything the man stood for, he didn't have any particular interest in being the repository of every grievance held against Nottingham's entire family. The atmosphere around town already felt charged with the potential for nastiness and Rhys just wanted to take his wife home.

"It was awhile ago," Isaac continued. "And from what I understand, the son is worse."

"Was there a point to this meeting?" Rhys finally asked. "You could have written all of this - or told it to Neal."

"And miss your smiling face?" Isaac replied. "How long have we been working together, Gold? Ten years now?"

"Something like that," Rhys said.

"So what's a week or two of negotiations between friends?"

Rhys could feel his head beginning to ache already. So Isaac had apparently decided he needed more attention, and the business expansion and Neal's request for new contract terms if they were going to be expanding had provided him with a the excuse he needed to demand it. The good news was Rhys was certain that the other man intended to go along with the plan, but the bad news was it would be a few weeks before he'd admit it.

The meeting, such as it was, concluded not long after with Rhys inviting Isaac to dinner. Belle had wanted to try her hand at hosting again, and Isaac should be easy enough to impress. He'd just be pleased to have warranted her attention and wasn't very likely to notice or care about any lapses in manners. Rhys just hoped Belle was really as interested in this dinner as she'd said she was.

There were more bookstores in London than Belle had known of back when she'd lived with her father. Then, she had patronized the shops that were in the fashionable parts of the city, but the home Neal kept wasn't near her old haunts. That was actually a strange relief. She had very little chance of meeting any relics of her old life as long as she stayed away from them. It had the extra benefit that she had discovered some wonderful stores she'd never have found otherwise.

She'd had two pieces of good news when she got home. The first had been that the woman she'd asked to come be a maid had appeared that afternoon with the calling card. The housekeeper had apparently been on the verge of telling her to leave when Rachel had appeared and - knowing the situation - directed the housekeeper to provide Gwen with a uniform and something to do until Belle had returned home. Rachel had also confided privately that she'd seen some bruising around Gwen's ribs when helping her into the new uniform, and Belle was even more convinced than ever that she'd made the right choice in stopping on the street to give her the card.

The second piece of good news was a letter from Ruby that had come while she'd been out. It was Belle's first correspondence since she'd been in the city, and she was already missing home so much it hurt a little bit, so she hurried into the sitting room to find a comfortable place to sit and read her letter.

_My Dearest Belle,_

_Promise you won't be angry, but I'm afraid if you're not then you'll be the only one who isn't. Gaston and I have eloped! By the time you get this, we'll be in Gretna and married. My grandmother is going to be livid, but I just couldn't go through with the big wedding full of people neither one of us really cared about being there. We'd both rather a quick wedding and a happy married life than going through the whole rigamarole of a big ceremony anyway. Smile for me, my dear, because I'm smiling even as I write these lines. It's exactly what I've been wanting since I came to England!_

_And I haven't even gotten to the best part yet - after the ceremony, we'll be heading straight to London before we return back home. It shouldn't be more than a week or two before we're back together again, isn't that grand? You have to promise me that you'll show me all the best places to shop and we can go to all the museums and shows. We're going to have an absolutely lovely time together, I just know it! _

_Oh, my dear Belle, we're to be cousins! You're the first person I've told, though I'm afraid you'll be the last to know because of the post time. I do hope my letter reaches you before the news gets there any other way. I don't think I could live if I didn't get to be the one who told you._

_Yours,_

_Ruby_

Well, Belle certainly hadn't expected that, though she supposed that it wasn't too surprising. Ruby didn't seem the sort to let a little thing like social convention talk her into doing anything and certainly not into making her go through with a large wedding. There was a part of Belle that was relieved she wouldn't have to go through with attending one herself. Truthfully, though, the largest part of her heart was taken up with excitement that she would soon be reunited with her friend. There weren't many people who Belle could count on, and Ruby was the only woman in her acquaintance who didn't treat her like a pariah. However, she wasn't entirely sure how much they would actually go out together in London. Ruby had a head full of romantic notions, but Belle knew that in town Ruby would be a popular guest while Belle would be a hermit. Pedigrees didn't matter so much when a girl was young and beautiful, but reputation did.

She refused to be drawn down by that thought. She should write Ruby a note of congratulations, though it could wait a little while. There would be no place to send it until Ruby and Gaston had come to London, so she had time to put her thoughts together.

Belle settled down in one of the chairs with one of her new books. It was an older first edition, but she'd read another story by the same author before and liked, it so she had high hopes for this particular novel. She was quickly caught up in the story of Gilbert Markham and Helen Graham, and it seemed almost no time at all before she heard her husband join her.

"Was your meeting successful?" she asked him once he'd kissed her hello and taken a seat. "Did you find out what Mr. Heller wants?"

"Yes to both," Rhys replied. "He just wants to be a nuisance, but I invited him to dinner and that seems to have placated him nicely."

"Oh good," she said, marking her place in the book and setting it aside. "I'll let the cook know later. When are we expecting him?"

"The day after tomorrow," Rhys said. "But I wouldn't worry yourself overmuch. He'll be easily impressed by your name. If you can get your father to show up he'll be beside himself."

"So he's after an introduction?" she asked. "I may be able to arrange that, actually. I had a letter from Ruby."

"Did you?"

"She's eloped with Gaston," Belle replied. "They'll be in London afterward, and I imagine my father will follow not long after."

"Well, congratulations to them," Rhys said. "That will certainly be the talk of the town for a few days, at least."

"I'm sure they thought of that," she said. "And anyway, Ruby was always going to make a splash in town."

Rhys smiled and relaxed further into his chair, which somehow beckoned her to go it on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she rested her head against his shoulder. She'd been forcing herself to keep moving through the last few days and trying so hard not to think too much about the potential ramifications of being in town and outside the safety of their home, but something about being there and letting him hold her everything just seemed to stop. She'd been so scared for so long, and hadn't even been aware of how much tension she'd been under until she felt it melting away.

"I missed you today," she murmured. "Did you miss me?"

"I always miss you," he replied. "I'm sorry I had to drag us both here."

"I'm not," she said. "If it will help Neal then I'm glad we came. Anyway, I couldn't hide forever."

He hummed a little bit in agreement, but otherwise remained silent as she breathed him in and let the walls she'd been holding up all day lower.

"How was your day?" he asked her after a few moments. "Have you been terribly bored?"

"You know," she said. "I'd never realized how much there really is to do in London. There were places that I always visited and I never strayed, but since I can't go to them anymore I've been discovering so many things."

"Oh?"

"I found a new bookshop," she said. "And I hired a maid."

"Did you?" he asked, looking at her curiously. "I'd forgotten we needed one."

"Lizzie has been doing two jobs," she said. "And I found someone I liked, so I hired her."

She knew her husband wouldn't question her choice or ask where Gwen had come from, and she knew if she told him he'd understand precisely _why_ she'd had to pull the girl off the street and invite her into their home - but Belle also knew this wasn't her story to tell, and she she didn't even know the truth of the matter herself, just what Rachel had related and a hunch. Belle still wasn't sure what she was thinking herself. This woman was a total stranger, and there were no guarantees that she wouldn't rob them blind or kill them in their sleep.

She'd tell him, she decided, once she'd had a chance to talk to Gwen. Besides, she'd need to know if the other woman needed to escape the city immediately or if she'd feel safer staying and leaving when the household returned home. There would be plenty of time for difficult conversations later when she wasn't feeling so content and safe.

Eventually, she was sure she'd have to meet Nottingham or one of his friends. Unless she kept herself locked away they were bound to cross paths, and as much as the idea of it terrified her, she didn't want to be locked away anymore. Maybe that's why she'd been so determined she had to bring Gwen into her protection - if she could do nothing for herself, then maybe she could do something for the other woman. Only time would tell.


	33. The Dragons Can Be Killed

Rhys knew he should put his attention into the business while he was in town, but with Isaac placated with the promise of an invitation to dinner at some point, he wanted to indulge in some time spent with Belle. He was a little worried about her being alone again, though perhaps he'd been concerned for nothing. She was impossible to locate after he'd gotten dressed and it was only by finding two footmen and a maid and inquiring as to the whereabouts of his wife that he was able to locate her in the servant quarters with another woman. They were discussing something and seemed to be sorting through clothing when he knocked on the open door.

"Rhys!" Belle said cheerfully. "This is Gwen, the new maid."

The woman she'd introduced as Gwen dipped quickly into a curtsey.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "I've come to steal my wife, though, if she can be spared."

"Oh don't be dramatic," Belle scolded, coming to plant a kiss on his cheek. "We were just going through her things and making sure she hadn't forgotten to bring any necessities."

"Don't let me rush you," he said as he stepped back into the hallway. "Whenever you're ready I'll be in the study."

"I'm ready," Belle replied before turning to Gwen. "I'll be back later if you still need help."

"I'll be fine," Gwen said with a mysterious smile. "Don't worry so much."

Belle nodded and followed Rhys into the hall. He had the distinct feeling he'd missed something very important, but wasn't sure how to ask what it was.

"Is everything all right?" Belle asked, and he wasn't quite sure how to answer her question. There was nothing wrong with him, but he felt strange.

"Everything is fine," he said at last. "But I thought I might take the day off work to spend it with my wife if she has the time to spare."

Her face immediately split into a beautiful smile that lit up her eyes.

"I think that can be arranged," she said. "Did you have any particular plans?"

"Nothing specific," he replied. "What would you be doing without me here?"

"I usually take the dog for a walk in the park," she said after thinking for a few moments. "We could start there?"

"I can't think of anything I'd like better," he said. "Would you like to leave soon?"

"I just need to dress," Belle said. "I'll meet you in a quarter of an hour?"

He nodded and walked her to the floor with the family rooms before leaving to change into walking clothes himself. Within half an hour, they were well on their way to Hyde Park with the puppy firmly planted on Belle's lap. The two of them made a pretty picture like that. Belle was wearing a navy blue walking dress and for some reason Rose had a pale blue ribbon tied to her collar that Rhys was sure hadn't been there before, but which offset Belle's dress nicely. His wife must have caught him staring at it, because she smiled and straightened it.

"Grace made me promise to put them on her," she explained. "She prepared one in every color so that Rose could be well dressed while she was in the city."

"I'd say she succeeded," he replied, reaching over to pet the puppy. "Rose will be the fanciest dog in London."

Belle smiled happily at his compliment to her pet and tickled the dog behind the ear. They rode in a comfortable silence the rest of the way to the park.

It was a little later than Belle usually went out, but it was still well before the park would become overrun with other people. Being here with her husband felt different than being alone, and it was a welcome change to have her arm through his as they took in the fresh air and the scenery.

"You know," he said after a few minutes. "I've never been here."

"Really?" she asked incredulously. "But you lived in London!"

"I didn't have much time for leisure activity," he replied. "And what time I did have I spent with my son."

"I used to come here at least three times a week," she said. "But then, in a way this was my job I suppose."

"Oh?"

"I had to be seen," she explained. "It's silly, but my life revolved around maintaining a social standing."

"It's not silly," he said, though truthfully it did seem a little pointless. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "Do you miss it?"

He saw her look over at him and he looked back to her.

"I don't," she said. "I miss having something to do, but I don't miss this."

This was new information for him. She'd never mentioned being bored by her life, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He liked having her around, but then he had correspondence and business he could attend to. Belle didn't really have much besides her dog and whatever projects she could make for herself in their home.

They walked in silence for a little while longer until he felt her tense next to him. He glanced over, and she was staring straight ahead. He didn't see anything peculiar ahead of them, and there wasn't anything nearby he could see. There were a few people in the park now, though he didn't think it was enough of a crowd to really bother her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, tucking his hand over hers where it sat in the crook of his arm.

"I'm fine," she replied quickly. "Just tired. We should go home."

"Whatever you like," he said, turning with her to return to the carriage. "You're sure nothing's bothering you?"

"No," she said. "It's nothing. Let's just go, please?"

She most certainly was not all right, but he knew there was no way to press her for more information. She'd tell him when she was ready for him to know, and until then all he could do was keep an eye out for signs of her distress.

Once they reached the carriage, she let him press a kiss to her forehead before handing her into it and passing up the puppy into her waiting arms. She held the dog a little tighter on the way home than she had on the way to the park, and Rhys couldn't shake the feeling that something had spooked her. He tried to watch her without staring, but he suspected that she caught him a few times anyway.

It was all too soon that they arrived at the house. He was going to lose her to the rooms where she'd retreat to lick her wounds privately and try not to disturb him with whatever it was that had bothered her so.

Jefferson was pacing in the hall when they entered and Rhys had only a moment to wonder at his servant's agitation before the other man's eyes lit on them and he was halfway to bowling them over in his haste.

"Thank God you're back," the valet exlained. "There are detectives in the drawing room asking after the new maid."

Rhys felt his heart drop into his stomach and next to him Belle stiffened.

"Is she all right?" Belle said quickly. "Tell me you didn't send her in there with them."

"No we didn't," Jefferson said quickly. "I'd sent for her, but Lizzie and Rachel both seemed to know something and insisted we wait for you to return."

"Good," Belle sighed. "Very good. Which drawing room are they in?"

"The red one," Jefferson replied, glancing quickly over at Rhys. "Should I tell them you're home?"

"No," Belle replied. "I'll go in and see them now, thank you. I don't need to change clothes."

Rhys watched as his wife seemed to brace herself before taking a deep breath and transforming in front of him into a perfect image of her old self with a gracious smile on her face and a tilt to her chin that bordered on haughty - the look of a woman who was simply used to getting her own way with no question. It was fascinating to see as she swept through the hall to the drawing room. He was pulled helplessly behind her by the sheer force of her presence. She was putting on a performance and he couldn't stop himself from watching it.

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," she said solicitously as soon as she entered the room. "It hasn't been too long, I hope?"

She set the puppy down at her feet and slipped her gloves off as the detectives stood and greeted her.

"Not long at all, mum," one of them said with a bow. "We're sorry to disturb you at home like this."

"It's quite all right," she replied, offering her hand for them to bow over. "But we haven't been introduced. I'm Lady Belle, and this is my husband, Rhys Gold."

Rhys never really seen anything quite like this, it was like he was watching another woman. She was friendly but imperious, and she hadn't used her title since they'd wed. He realized all at once what she was doing: she was attempting to intimidate the detectives. It was working well, though - the two other men were giving each other uneasy looks at this new piece of information.

"I'm Detective Humbert, madam," the younger of the two men said at last. "This is Detective Booth."

"How can we help you?" she said, sitting at last and letting the puppy up on her lap. Rhys joined her on the settee, a silent player in this pantomime.

"We just have some questions," Detective Booth said. "We had a report by a Mr. Arthur King that his wife, Gwen, had gone missing."

"How terrible!" she exclaimed, and if he hadn't known better Rhys would have believed she had no idea about any of this. But she knew - she _had_ to have known. That was why she'd been behaving so strangely the moment she knew these men were here. She'd been expecting them, and he had no idea why.

"Forgive my interruption," Rhys said as evenly as he could. "But what does that have to do with us?"

"We had a report that she's been seen in the neighborhood," Detective Humbert said. "And that a woman matching her description has been in and out of your house."

"Well that's silly," Belle said easily. "The only women who have been in and out of the house are the servants."

"Are any of them new?" Booth said. "No one could fault you, madam, if you or your housekeeper were perhaps mislead?"

They were giving her an out, and Rhys turned to watch how she'd react. These officers clearly suspected something but they also didn't seem to have any particular desire to press the issue with a Viscount's daughter. For her part, Belle was completely at ease. He knew for a fact that she was trying to hide something but he still _wanted_ to believe her.

"No," Belle replied. "They've all been with us since before we were married. Well, except for Rachel - she's the daughter of one of my father's tenants."

"Is that right?" Humbert said to Rhys.

"It's like my wife said," Rhys said. "As for the servants from this house...my son runs it most of the year so I can't attest to how long they've _all_ been here. There aren't any new ones that I'm aware of, though."

"You wouldn't mind us seeing the maids, then?" Booth replied. "Just so we can tell Mr. King we've exhausted the lead, of course."

"Of course," Belle said. "We have nothing to hide."

She set her puppy down on the floor and went to ring for a maid, asking her to send the other girls into the room. Rhys wasn't sure what her plan was, but he knew she had to have made a plan for this or she wouldn't have been so calm. It had been a long time since Rhy had been in a position to need to lie to constables, and he hadn't missed it. The fact that his wife was doing so fluently was a strange flashback to a life he thought he'd left behind and it was making his skin itch to see.

The aids came in one by one with little fanfare, Lizzie and Rachel being quickly dismissed along with most of Neal's household staff. Gwen was in one of the last groups sent in, and as soon as she entered the room Rhys felt the energy change.

"What's your name, miss?" Humbert said to her.

"Sarah," Gwen replied quickly. "Sarah Collins."

"And you're from London?"

"No, sir," she said, keeping her head down and eyes averted. "I'm from Sheffield."

"And do you have any family in Sheffield?" Humbert continued.

"I'm an orphan, sir," she said evenly. "Though I'm given to understand I have some cousins in Leeds."

Rhys could tell they didn't believe her. There must have at least been a sufficient description of the missing wife to identify her if not a photo. He had an image flash in front of his eyes of his wife in stocks for stealing away a man's lawful wife.

"Mr. Gold," Booth said, turning to face Rhys. "You don't mind if we bring in the husband to identify her, do you?"

"You can't be serious," Belle interrupted before Rhys could even figure out how to string two words together. "You can't honestly think my maid is this missing Mrs. King."

"She fits the description, madam," Booth replied. "And if she's not his wife then we can easily put this behind us."

"Fine," she said, glancing towards Gwen. "Bring him in if you insist, but I can tell you that you've found the wrong woman."

The detectives looked at each other uneasily, clearly not willing to call her a liar but also not entirely believing what she said. For his part, Rhys was trying to watch both his wife and the maid to discern what they possibly could have prepared. Belle was a perfect image of a haughty society bride confident of her place and peeved at the intrusion, and Gwen was a portrait of calm serenity except for a tell-tale tightness in her hands as they dug into the folds of her skirt.

Detective Booth excused himself momentarily and the four of them sat in silence until he returned. A few minutes later, one of the footmen entered with a man who Rhys had never seen before. He was decently enough dressed - a shopkeeper, perhaps - but he had the red cheeks and bloodshot eyes of a man who drank too much and suddenly the entire situation came crashing into focus.

"Gwen," the man said, sounding almost relieved. "I was so worried about you!"

Gwen flinched and moved away as if on instinct as her husband approached her. The man looked as though he wanted to pursue her but thought the better of it once he realized where he was.

"You're mistaken," Gwen said quickly. "I don't know you. My name is Sarah."

"Why are you lying?" Mr. King asked. "Just come home, please. I miss you."

Everyone was silent for a moment as the drama played out in front of them before Belle finally broke the silence.

"This is ridiculous," Belle said in a huff. "You're mistaken, sir. This is my maid and she's been with me for years."

"Is this true?" Humbert said, turning to Gwen.

"Yes," she said. "I've never seen this man before in my life."

Rhys could hear the strain in the woman's voice and the detectives had to have heard it, too. She was scared.

"My wife is telling the truth," Rhys said at last. "We just brought this maid into town with us."

"This is my wife," Mr. King exclaimed loudly, turning between the assembled. "They're all liars!"

"Ask my father," Belle said before anyone else could speak. "We expect him in London soon, or you can visit him at his estate in Northampton. He'll tell you she's been with me for years."

She stood and fetched a piece of paper and a pencil off the desk and scrawled something on a paper before handing it to the detectives.

"Here's his address," she said. "My cousin and his wife will be at the house soon, too and you can ask either of them."

"_Viscount Maurice French_," Booth read off the paper, looking nervously at Humbert. "And you expect him soon?"

"Likely by week's end," she replied. "My cousin is only recently married and I'm sure my father will want to congratulate his heir."

"We'll be sure to call on them when they arrive," Humbert said at last. "In the meantime, she can't leave town."

"You can't be serious," Mr. King blurted out. "You're just going to leave her here? I'm telling you, that's my wife."

"And she has two witnesses saying she isn't," Booth replied. "We'll get to the bottom of this soon enough. We're sorry for bothering you, Mr. and Mrs. Gold."

Humbert also took his leave, and Arthur King reluctantly followed as the footman led them out. Rhys didn't relax until they were out of sight.

"They're make me go back," Gwen blurted out with tears in her voice. "I'm so sorry for bringing this onto you."

"No," Belle said, going to comfort the other woman. "My father will say whatever I ask him to and the detectives will never go against him. You'll probably need to stay inside for the rest of the trip, but as soon as this is all sorted I'll have someone take you to Northampton. It will be safe for you there."

"She's right," Rhys said to Gwen as calmly as he could manage. "If Lord Maurice speaks for you then nothing your husband says is going to make the police do anything. They'd have to arrest my wife for harboring you and they won't want to risk that."

"See?" Belle said. "Go upstairs and calm down. It will be all right, you'll see."

Gwen nodded and curtseyed before exiting the room and leaving Belle and Rhys alone again.

"Thank you for speaking for Gwen," Belle said. "I didn't think they'd find her here."

"Apparently not," he said a bit more harshly than he'd meant. "And you didn't leave me much choice, since it was lying for her or seeing you arrested."

"You're not angry, are you?" she said, turning quickly towards him. "I didn't mean any harm."

"Intent is meaningless," he snapped. "Do you have any idea what you've done here? You could have been arrested! You still could be, you know. And so could I."

Belle looked legitimately shocked at his outburst, but she narrowed her eyes and was quickly fighting back.

"So you expected me to hand her back to her husband?" she said, moving to the door to the parlor and shutting the door. "To let him have her back? You saw how she reacted when he came in and you want me to give her back to that?"

"That's not what I said!" he shot back, trying hard to hold his temper in check though she was pushing it. "But did it not occur to you that I might help you? Or that I might have a problem with detectives suddenly appearing in my house looking for the help? You could at least have _warned_ me so I didn't do anything to compromise her safety!"

Belle seemed taken aback by his outburst. He'd never yelled at her and only rarely yelled in general. He could probably count on his fingers the number of times he'd yelled at Neal throughout the boy's childhood. What would he even have done with a poorly behaved child?

"The story wasn't mine to tell," she said after a little while, coming back and setting her hand on his chest affectionately. "I did mean to tell you, but the time was never right. I wanted to get her safe and settled before the household learned the truth."

"I'm not the household," he replied as his hand moved to rest over hers without any input from him. "I'm your husband. I have a right to know what goes on in my own house."

"You're right," she said softly, standing on tiptoes and kissing his cheek. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. Am I forgiven?"

He wasn't truly angry anymore. He had been, certainly, but the anger had left him now and he was just tired.

"Of course," he said. "On the condition you tell me next time we take in any fugitives."

Belle smiled at him sweetly and threw her arms around him tight.

"I promise," she said. "I really did plan on telling you soon. I didn't think they'd find her so fast, though."

"She needs to stay inside from now on," Rhys replied as seriously as he could manage. "He's going to be watching for her now that he knows where he is."

"I'd wanted to send her away," Belle admitted. "I wanted to get her out of the city."

"That's going to have to wait," he said. "But I agree, she needs to be out of the city soon. I just don't know how yet."

Belle huffed and nodded, pressing her cheek into his chest and clinging to him tighter. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her tightly. He didn't want to admit how affected he'd been by the entire confrontation. It had drained him to once again be on tenterhooks trying not to say the wrong thing that would somehow make it worse.

"You weren't terribly angry, were you?" Belle asked. "I really didn't think you'd mind."

"No," he said. "I wasn't very angry."

He had been scared and angry she hadn't told him, but he never would have said she couldn't hire the girl, either.

"Good," she said with a smile, pulling away kissing his cheek again. "I'd hate to think I'd hurt things between us."

He smiled down at her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms slowly. How could she ever think he'd be angry with her? Of course he understood. Hadn't that same instinct to protect been his motivation for marrying her?

She was still looking at him with watery blue eyes and he indulged in bending down to capture her lips in a soft kiss. His wife sighed softly and he felt her fingers begin to work their way up to his collar and the hair at the back of his neck. Her freckles were fading, and he could see a light dusting of powder on her skin at this distance. He was a little surprised at how much he missed them.

"I need to write my father," Belle said after a while. "Or at least have a note left at the house to warn them."

"Good idea," he said, letting her step away from him. "Give it to Lizzie and send her to buy something. She can drop it off before she comes home."

Belle nodded, understanding his meaning perfectly. This all couldn't end soon enough. Once they had left the city they would likely be safe, but the trick was going to be lasting that long.


	34. Wash Away the Pain

Belle was still uneasy that night, and she laid awake next to her sleeping husband. It had been easy to pretend not to be worried all day when she'd had distractions and people to talk to, but now in the dark when there was nothing else to take her mind off of it, she had to admit to herself that she was afraid.

Desmond Ramsey, youngest son of a country earl, had been at the park. What he'd been doing awake that early in the morning was entirely beyond her, but there he'd been, plain as day, promenading with a young lady she didn't recognize. She almost hadn't recognized _him_ without Nottingham nearby. The two were practically inseparable and had been as long as she'd been aware of either. She wasn't sure if he'd seen her or not, but even so, the idea of it had been horrifying. She'd done so well at avoiding her old life the entire time they'd been in the city that this felt like an invasion into a world she'd struggled so hard to build.

What would she do if Nottingham came looking for her? She'd been preparing for this, but it had always been a vague hypothetical situation. It was something that required knives and an obsessive attention to her surroundings. The idea of him had always seemed strangely unreal and larger than life since the attack, and she suddenly _needed_ to see if the packet of his debt Rhys had given her was still safely where she'd left it. She knew it were there, because who would have moved it? But her chest was tightening and the idea that maybe she couldn't reach it at a moment's notice was rushing through her head over and over again until she finally got out of bed as carefully as possible, grabbed the dagger out of the box that she kept it in on her nightstand, and dashed to the dressing room as fast as she dared with Rhys still asleep.

She'd put the papers into a leather folder and then hidden the packet in a hat box in her dressing room for the trip to London. She'd never really been certain of what to do with the gift – it had been too much to really think about at the time, and every possible use for them seemed as good as any other. Revenge would be nice, but she liked the security of having it be her secret as well. And if she were to get revenge, what would be the best way to present it to him? The possibilities had been far too many for her to make any decisions on the matter, and she'd left it as something to take out as a reminder that she was safe and her husband loved her. Now, though, she ran her fingers over the soft leather cover over and over again as she tried to calm her rapid heartbeat. She was safe, she was loved, she was protected. No matter what Nottingham did, he couldn't reach her anymore.

She didn't know how long she sat on the floor of the dressing room cradling the sheath of papers in her arms before suddenly the cloud cleared and she realized how silly this was. It was the middle of the night and she was on the cold floor holding papers and a dagger, as though they'd stave off the evil. She still wasn't tired, but she was exhausted, body and soul. How much longer was she going to be haunted by this?

Belle returned the papers to their hiding place, still feeling silly as she place the hat box on its shelf and let herself out of the dressing room before going back to bed. The dagger went back in its box and she climbed under the covers with Rhys. He was warm and she was chilled, and he felt so nice to be with. He stirred as she cuddled up to him and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

"Are you okay?" he mumbled, stroking her arms slowly. "You're cold."

"I am," she replied. "Go back to sleep."

He nodded and hummed a little and she felt him relax again. The sun was coming up, and she was safe in her husband's arms as sleep finally reached her.

Belle hadn't slept more than a few hours before she felt her husband begin to stir next to her. She was still tired, but she was also itching to be _moving_. She still wasn't sure what she planned to do for her walk. Not going would mean admitting that she was upset, and no matter that she knew Rhys would be desperate to help her any way he could, she just wanted to not be a bother. He'd told her that he had work to do in town, and all she wanted was for him to finish so they could go home.

She smiled as well as she could and kissed him on the cheek before he left, and promised to see him that evening. After that, it had been so easy to just follow her usual routine. The dog still needed to be walked, and she didn't know where else to tell the driver to take them besides Hyde Park. Somehow, it would have been too much effort to ask to go elsewhere, and it would have been a sign that something was wrong, and she just wanted to pretend like everything was still wonderful.

The closer they drew to their destination, the tighter the knot of fear in her belly tightened and the more convinced she was she had to continue. Rose was already wriggling excitedly in her lap at the prospect of getting onto the ground and getting to sniff all her usual places. Why should Belle let Nottingham deprive Rose of this enjoyment? Why should she let him deprive _her_ of every pleasure? Besides, for what she feared to come to pass, Ramsey would have had to see her in the park - and she wasn't sure that he had. It was also possible that Ramsey and Nottingham had fallen out over something or that it wouldn't even have occurred to Ramsey to tell Nottingham about her. Even if he did, he would think she came later in the day. Nobody would be there when she arrived, she was sure of it.

It was the absolutely unlikeliness of anything bad happening that kept her moving forward through the park. She wasn't relaxed, but she was moving. Rosie stopped and was sniffing some flowers when Belle felt a prickly feeling on her spine that had her instantly on alert. They hadn't roamed as far from the carriage as they'd been used to, but even so Belle suddenly didn't feel safe. She looked around as discretely as possible before she saw him. It took her a moment to recognize Nottingham as a human and not the thing that had haunted her nightmares. He was shorter than she'd remembered – smaller, less monstrous. He looked so _normal_ as he strode towards her casually, and for some reason that unnerved her more than if he'd been breathing fire as he approached.

The whole scene felt strangely unreal – it was actually the calmest she'd been since the previous evening. Everything was moving in a strange sort of slow motion as she bent to scoop Rose up in her arms and turned towards the carriage. She was closer to it than he was to her by quite a lot, she just had to walk back and she'd be shut up inside on her way home before he could get to her. It felt like somebody else's body walking back to the carriage even as she heard him call her name from closer than she thought he was. Lizzie was already inside, and Belle handed the puppy up to her maid before the footman helped her in herself.

"Don't stop for that man," she said, and the footman glanced behind him before nodding and shutting the door on the women. Belle heard Nottingham's voice again as the horses started walking, and she was safe.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and her fingers were shaking as she carefully stroked Rose's fur. The puppy seemed to have sensed some of her owner's distress and was watching Belle with big brown eyes and worry plain on her face. Belle wondered how much the dog had understood, but just the fact that Rose had been concerned for her wellbeing brought tears to her eyes as they drove home.

Rhys wasn't getting a damn thing done that day and he knew it. Neal was doing a fantastic job with keeping the books, and there wasn't anything particularly important happening now that Isaac had been placated. More and more, he was starting to feel like his life wasn't there anymore, it was at home with Belle and their little life in the country. He was still thinking about what they'd discussed about having children someday, and he was beginning to become excited by the idea. Neal would likely have a mild stroke over it, but he knew his son would come around eventually as well. They'd all be a family and it would be lovely.

He was halfway through a delightful little fantasy of children playing in the garden of the little house (she was going to want someplace bigger if there were children, wasn't she?) when Maurice French arrived with a strange anxious energy radiating off of him and Rhys thought he might know the source of it.

"Good morning," Rhys said. "You didn't quite beat Miss Lucas' letter here – though I suppose it must be Mrs. French by now, mustn't it?"

"Oh God," Moe said, all the frenetic energy seeming to leave him as he fell into one of the chairs by Rhys' desk. "How did Belle take the news?"

"She was fine," Rhys replied. "The two of them were thick as thieves before we had to leave for town. If anything, I think she's relieved she didn't have to go to a wedding."

"That's good," Moe said. "I never know what's going to set her off, you know."

"She's not that mysterious," Rhys said, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice. "There's definite things that set her off, but they're easy enough to avoid if you watch her reactions and think about things from her perspective."

It was a strange thing to discuss Belle with her father. They'd barely spoken since Belle had confided her treatment in the aftermath of her assault and while Rhys knew she didn't hold any particular grudge against her father, but he hadn't had the time she had to come to terms with what had happened, either. The idea of his clever and intelligent wife being confined to her room with only two hours of mental stimulation allowed a day was horrific and he was having trouble forgiving on her behalf. But it also wasn't his place to cause trouble for her, so he punched the anger down for the time being. There would be plenty of time to discuss Belle's treatment later, and for now she was totally safe from that happening again.

To his credit, Maurice didn't take offense to the mild scolding of his son-in-law. He simply nodded and put his hands over his face for a second, seeming to try to gather himself to answer.

"Is she really all right?" Moe asked forlornly.

Of all the things the other man could have asked, Moe had chosen the one that would go the furthest towards redeeming him. He knew Moe loved his daughter or else her story would have ended much more unhappily. That part was probably the thing he needed to focus on for the foreseeable future – Belle's father had been under no obligation to house her as he did, or to take up her cause and attempt to prosecute it. He could simply have told her that her choices were Nottingham or obscurity and been done with it. Perhaps that was what kept Belle's affection for her father alive.

"She is," Rhys said at last. "She's hosting a dinner later this week, actually. You're welcome to come and see for yourself."

The fact that Isaac Heller would be there could just be a surprise and that would serve as its own sort of petty vengeance.

Moe seemed to mull this invitation over for a little bit before nodding in agreement.

"And you're sure she's all right?"

Rhys swallowed a sarcastic answer. As personally peeved as he was on Belle's behalf, antagonizing her father would be entirely unhelpful to everybody.

"I won't say she doesn't have bad days," Rhys said. "Or that she's not changed, for that matter. But she has more good days than bad ones. If you can get past the idea that she's not gone back to the way she was, she's doing quite well."

Moe seemed to take Rhys' hint and had the good grace to look a little shamefaced.

"Right," he said, standing up. "You'll tell her I'm in town?"

"I will," Rhys replied. "I'll have her send you the details of the dinner when I get home tonight."

Moe turned to leave when Rhys suddenly remembered the most important part.

"Moe," he called out. "Belle does need a favor from you."

"Oh?"

"If anyone asks, she took a maid named Sarah Collins with her when we married," Rhys said. "Pretty girl, dark hair. About Belle's age."

"Of course," Moe said. "But who might be asking after her?"

"A pair of detectives most likely," Rhys said. "Your daughter has a good heart, but she's a bit impulsive."

"She always has been," Moe replied with a chuckle and the first real smile Rhys thought he'd seen on the man in over a year. "You'll let me know if there's anything else I can do for her?"

"I will," Rhys said. "I'll see you at dinner."

Moe tipped his hat and exited the room quietly leaving Rhys alone with his thoughts. Oh, sod it. He was completely useless at the office, and he missed his wife.

Belle was in the parlour when Rhys returned home, but he knew something was wrong the moment he walked in. She'd been pacing again, and as soon as she saw him she practically threw herself into his arms.

"Belle, darling, what's wrong?" he asked, stroking her hair. "Are you hurt?"

"He was there," she said. "At the park when I was walking Rose."

He didn't need to hear anymore than that. Anger was already rising in his chest and it was all he could do not to cling to her too tightly from the residual fear that her words had awoken. He'd promised to protect her, and he'd been in a factory doing nothing while she'd been in danger. He had failed her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair. "You're safe now."

"I was so scared," she whimpered. "I hate that I'm still afraid of him."

He didn't know what to say to that. She'd been afraid and he hadn't been with her, and there was no way to apologize for letting her be in danger. What the hell had Nottingham even been after coming for her in the park in the daytime? She was very much married so he couldn't have been wanting to offer another one of his half-hearted proposals, and in a public place near her own servants he can't have meant to hurt her physically. All Rhys could think was that the man had meant to play with her mind in which case he was definitely succeeding. Belle was clinging to him so hard it almost hurt and he didn't dare to loosen his grip on her, either.

"He can't hurt you," Rhys finally said. "You're safe, I promise. We can go home tomorrow, if you like."

"No," she said. "I don't want to let him chase me away."

He nodded and rubbed her shoulders and back softly. She was relaxing a little as he touched her, but she also didn't seem at all inclined to release him. Rhys had never wanted to skin a man alive quite as much as he wanted to at that moment, but she didn't need him to be angry yet. She needed him to calm her down and reassure her of her safety. Anger could come later when it would do something besides scare her.

"Do you think a bath would help?" he asked her. "I can call Lizzie to help. Or Gwen."

"No," she replied. "I want to stay with you."

"I can draw it for you," he said, though he wasn't sure why he was trying to convince her except that he desperately wanted her to calm down. "I do know how to work the plumbing, you know."

She made a noise that might have been a laugh, but she was still so upset it came out almost as a sob.

"Only if you'll stay with me," she said at last. "I don't want to be alone."

He'd do nearly anything she asked him to; he could stay with her as long as she needed.

"I won't leave you alone," he promised. "I'll be here as long as you need me."

She nodded at that and slowly disentangled herself from him and he could see the tell-tale puffiness around her eyes that said she'd been crying earlier. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead before he could stop himself, but she didn't seem to have any lingering fear of him touching her anyway.

It took them longer than usual to get upstairs because she was keeping unusually close behind him and seemed intent on holding his hand the whole way, but soon enough they were safely in the bathroom nearest to her bed chamber. It was miles more modern than the one at home with hot and cold running water and a large porcelain bathtub. He'd thought of installing plumbing in the house, but it hadn't ever seemed important enough until right now when he was turning knobs on faucets while Belle sat at a vanity watching him with her watery eyes and an expression on her face that he didn't know how to read.

Once the tub was filling, he went back to her side and started rubbing her shoulders again. She seemed to relax a little bit. He wasn't sure if it was his actions or his proximity that was helping her, but either way he kept doing it while they waited for the tub to fill. By the time he had to turn off the water, he almost wouldn't have known she was ever upset except for how uncharacteristically quiet she was being.

"Can you help me out of my dress?" she asked, turning so he could see the buttons and sash of her walking dress. She'd never even changed after she got back from her walk.

It had gotten easier to undress her since he'd started helping her on occasion, and it only took a few moments to have her down to her undergarments. He hung the dress for her before loosening her corset so she could open the busking in the front.

"Thank you," she said, sitting back at the vanity and fiddling with her shoes and garters. He stood there feeling awkward with nothing to do besides watch her. "Aren't you going to get undressed?"

He'd not planned on it, hadn't realized she wanted him to join her in the tub although it made sense now that he thought about it for more than a second. She always wanted him closer than he'd realize and always been surprised he hadn't taken her meaning.

"Of course," he said, turning to strip off his coat and waistcoat and hang them with her dress. They'd been naked together before, but they'd never been in a bath together. He got about halfway through unbuttoning his shirt before she was behind him and her hands were batting his out of the way. He let her finish and waited for her to pull his shirt off his shoulders before turning around. She was still wearing her shift, but the rest of her underclothes were in a neat pile on a table next to the vanity.

"Sit," she said, and when he did she knelt down and helped him with his shoes and socks. She had a tendency to do that when she would help him undress, and he wondered if she knew it was sometimes difficult for him to do with his leg or if she just did it without thinking but either way it was a painfully sweet gesture every time.

Once she'd helped with his shoes, she stood and pulled her shift off over her head before stepping into the tub and settling down into the warm water. She watched him openly as he finished undressing and joined her in the tub, leaning against the high back, unsure what she wanted with him there. Without a word, Belle shifted and moved so she was seated between his legs with her back against his front. She relaxed against him easily, resting her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him as they soaked in silence for a little while.

"I'm sorry I was so upset earlier," she said after a little while. "I should never have gone to Hyde Park today."

"You knew something was wrong," he said as realization dawned on him. "That's why you were so upset yesterday."

"I saw one of his friends while we were out," she replied. "I didn't think he'd seen me, though."

"You should have told me," he said. "I'd have come with you."

"I didn't want you to," she said with a little shake of her head. "I didn't want to be a burden while we're here."

"You're not a burden," he said, angling so he could look down into her face as much as possible. "You're _not. _You're my wife, and your safety isn't a burden."

"I feel like one," she said, finding his hands with her own and weaving their fingers together. "Goodness knows you do nothing but take care of me sometimes. I didn't want to interfere with what we came here for."

"I didn't do anything today that couldn't have been done without me," he said. "And there won't be anything tomorrow, either."

"I won't go there tomorrow anyway," Belle said softly. "I don't want to see him again."

"I'll come anyway," he said. "Neal doesn't need my help."

She nodded and he could feel her settling into his arms again. She was warm and so was the water and if it weren't for the fact he was so goddamn _terrified_ of what might have happened to her that morning it would have been perfect. They'd have to do this again another day, he decided. Someday when she wasn't so frightened and they could spend the time enjoying the feeling of being together like that.

"I don't know what he wanted from me," Belle said quietly. "What else can he _possibly_ take?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," he replied, holding her tighter on instinct. "But whatever he wants, he's not going to get it."

"No," she said, looking up at him again so trustingly it shook him to his soul. "No he won't."


	35. Relief

Ruby was used to cities. She'd been brought up in New York for the most part, but she was no stranger to either Boston or Chicago. London, though, was an exciting new adventure. Gaston had warned her that it would be different, but she hadn't been prepared for exactly _how_ different it would be. New York was modern and the rest of England had felt ancient in comparison. London, however, was a strange combination of the old and the new. She found it enthralling and disconcerting all at the same time.

It had been two weeks since Ruby and Gaston had arrived in Gretna Green and been married. Since then, they'd spent a blissfully happy time in Scotland and made their way slowly down England, stopping wherever they pleased en route to London. Going home would have been faster, but she was dying to see the city and to see her friend again. Anyway, the social season was well underway and Ruby was excited to make a splash.

"Are we very far from your uncle's house?" Ruby asked as they turned down yet another street. They were all beginning to blend together after she'd been travelling for so long.

"Almost there," her new husband replied. "Do you think your grandmother is going to be angry?"

"Probably not by now," she said, imagining her grandma's face when she'd found the notes she'd left for everyone. "What about your uncle?"

"He's just going to be happy it's over and done with," Gaston said. "And frankly, so am I."

"Such a romantic," she replied, poking him in the side. "I'm _such_ a lucky woman."

He chuckled in response, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. She felt her heart flutter in her chest and knew she must look like the silliest girl in the world, but couldn't bring herself to care. They were newlyweds; she was sure a little bit of silliness could be forgiven.

They settled into a comfortable silence before they finally turned into the drive of Lord Maurice's London home. It was an odd situation to be in, finding herself heiress to numerous properties belonging to a stranger, but here she was. She wasn't sure it would be something she'd ever adjust to. At home, there had been no question about her being her parents' heir, but here Maurice's daughter was pushed aside in favor of his brother's son. Granted, that was because of the title being involved, but it still felt strange to her that these houses were going to be hers someday.

She sighed and shook off her strange mood. It was probably the travel and lack of involvement with her business that was making her feel strangely. Goodness, she was going to have a hundred messages to answer wasn't she? The idea of it was enough to make her want to tell the driver to just keep going so she could put off dealing with the backlog a little longer. She was beginning to think that she needed to hire someone to handle more of the day-to-day than she'd been accustomed to giving up. The longer she was away from it, though, the more she found herself wanting other things. She was quite happy in England, and while she didn't have any intention of becoming one of those society women who spent their days at home or flitting between shops, she was beginning to feel excited about the societal weight she'd have here. Belle had understood it, hadn't she? It had been one of the things she'd hinted at during their visits, that Ruby would be 'in demand' in London once she was married?

It took the better part of two days to get settled into the London house and sort through a pile of telegrams, but by the following afternoon afternoon she was ready to call on her friend.

The Golds' house was in a newer neighborhood on the outskirts of town, relatively far from where Lord French kept his house, which was apparently a sign of his status as _middle class_. Ruby knew from Gaston that Rhys Gold was one of Lord Maurice's creditors, which would seem to imply that he had quite a bit more money than this house would indicate. She didn't really think she'd get used to the various class distinctions in England. She was used to the idea of old money looking down on new, but the layers on layers of class distinctions in her new home wasn't something she thought would ever come naturally to her. It was a bit like learning a second language; she'd always think in her native tongue.

It was a relief to enter the well-appointed drawing room and find her friend reading in front of a fire. Belle set her book down as soon as Ruby entered and the two women greeted each other.

"I suppose congratulations are in order, aren't they?" Belle said cheerfully as they sat together. "Should I start calling you Mrs. French?"

"Oh goodness," Ruby said. "Please don't. I've been nothing but Mrs. French since we left Scotland."

"You'll get used to it," Belle replied. "Although honestly I do still sometimes forget that when someone refers to Mrs. Gold, they're talking about me."

The two shared a laugh before a maid entered bearing tea, and by the time that was settled they'd entered a companionable silence.

"So how are you finding London?" Belle asked at length. "Is it very different than America?"

"It's older," Ruby said. "But to be honest I just got into town yesterday. I came to see you as soon as I could get out of the house."

"Well, we can take care of that I think," Belle said. "I know all the best places to go."

"I thought so," Ruby said. "You were my very first choice of guide."

Belle's smile faltered for the first time since their conversation began, and Ruby thought she could probably guess the reason. It wouldn't be the first time Belle had demurred from being seen in public together, after all.

"Oh come on," Ruby continued. "I know you don't just sit here all day alone. So where do you go?"

"I take the dog for walks," Belle said. "And on occasion I go shopping. Aside from that, I _do_ spend most of my days at home."

"That's silly," Ruby said as firmly as she could. She understood her friend's apprehension, but she would not stand by and let her become a hermit, either. "There have to be a million things to do here, surely there must be _something_ you'd like to see. We'll have a lovely time."

Ruby was becoming increasingly frustrated with all the men in this situation. As far as she could see, every single one of them had been absolutely content to let Belle do as she pleased, which by and large seemed to be pretending like she didn't exist and hoping everyone else would forget she was there.

"I can't," Belle said like it was some kind of a trump card. "Imagine what people will say."

"If anyone is still talking about you, hiding away certainly won't shut them up," Ruby said. "And besides, who cares what they think? You're married, and your husband certainly doesn't pay them any mind."

"I don't want to cause _you_ any embarrassment either," Belle said in a bit of a huff now. "You _know_ what my reputation is."

"We're cousins now," Ruby replied, putting her hand on her friend's as comfortingly as she could manage. "Nobody is going to forget that, and I'm certainly not expecting them to. I'm not embarrassed by you."

Ruby could see the moment Belle gave in, and it was all she could do not to let any relief show on her face at the success.

"Fine," Belle said. "We'll see how you feel after you see what happens."

"Excellent!" Ruby said. "We can go to the British Museum. I've always wanted to see the Elgin Marbles."

Belle shot Ruby a dirty look, but she pretended not to notice, and soon enough the conversation returned to its earlier pleasantness. She knew her friend was comfortable with her life, but Belle was also afraid - and that was something Ruby would not let her accept so easily.

Belle was doing her level best to keep herself calm as they approached the museum the next day. Going out in public hadn't been easy since it happened, but the last few weeks of hiding away from Nottingham had been a special kind of trial. She wouldn't have even agreed to go with Ruby except that she was reasonably certain that neither Nottingham nor any of his friends had ever willingly attended _any _museum. It was quite possibly the safest place for her outside of her home.

She'd spent longer getting dressed for this outing than she had for her wedding, carefully selecting a pale blue day dress with large white roses embroidered across the front of the skirt and at the neckline. It had a high neckline and a modest bustle – just enough to be fashionable, but not so much as to draw too much attention to herself. She'd let Rachel set her hair into curls and pinned a cameo inherited from her mother on her collar. She was a perfect picture of a respectable woman, and she could only pray it would be enough.

It turned out that she hadn't needed to worry at all. When the two women entered the museum nobody noticed or cared. It was still difficult for her to shake the idea of being watched, but every time she looked around, nobody seemed to care one way or the other who she was or what she was doing. By the end of the day, she'd almost forgotten her earlier discomfort. They even went out for tea afterward.

"Did you enjoy the display?" Belle asked her friend over tea and cakes at the teahouse.

"I did," Ruby replied. "Though I'm not sure why I thought the marbles would be so much more interesting than they were."

"They're a national pride," Belle said. "They don't have to be interesting."

"I didn't say they weren't interesting," Ruby said defensively. "But I vastly preferred the portraiture."

"That's good," Belle said. "And I want you to remember how much you enjoyed the portraits next week when you're coming to a dinner party for one of my husband's business associates."

"You do realize you didn't need to extort me into this, don't you?" Ruby replied with a little quirk of her lips. "I've hosted a million of those dinners."

Belle almost laughed at her own silliness. Of course; Ruby had run her own company. She wouldn't consider this a hardship the way Belle's old friends would have.

"Good," she finally said. "Then you can help me prepare for it."

Belle's eyes were drawn across the street where she saw some a group of little boys covered in soot hurrying down the lane. They were clearly either coming from or going to a job, and Belle found herself once again stricken by the sight of children already so engaged. She knew what sorts of work little took, usually dirty and dangerous jobs in places too small for men to fit like crawling into chimneys. Girls weren't uncommon fixtures in textile mills, reaching into machinery to retrieve bobbins and thread spools that dropped behind the machines. She wasn't sure if Neal employed girls, but suddenly she was very interested in knowing.

What must compel parents to send their small children to do dangerous work? The answer, of course, was money. It was abominably unfair that she'd never worked a day in her life because of some quirk of her birth, wasn't it? Her husband hadn't been so different from those little boys once upon a time, and Neal was doing his level best to increase their standing. Even Ruby, wealthy though she was, had worked to maintain that. Belle had simply been born to a life where money was never something she'd needed to bother with beyond learning how to balance a household budget.

"There's a church down that road," Belle said to Ruby. "Do you mind if we stop at it on our way back?"

"Of course not," Ruby replied, perhaps a bit disinterestedly. "Is there anywhere else we should stop?"

"Not that I can think of," Belle said. "I just want to see the Vicar."

That seemed to grab Ruby's attention but the other woman had the tact at least not to pry.

It had been a long time since Belle had last been in a church – since before the assault, in fact. She'd never been a particularly devout Anglican, though she'd been used to attending services fairly regularly at one of the larger chapels. This one was smaller and certainly more middle class, but it would likely suit her purposes far better than a stately cathedral that catered exclusively to the wealthy. Walking into the little church she felt a bit like an outsider even as they located the portly vicar who introduced himself as Vicar Tuck. It occurred to her how little she'd really thought out this plan. It was fortunate he hadn't been in the middle of doing something else, really.

"What can I do for you ladies?" he had asked, smiling and obviously taking in the cut of their clothes and recognizing that neither one had ever set foot in this church before.

"My name is Mrs. Belle Gold," she began. "And this is my friend, Mrs. Ruby French."

She paused, hoping that the man would recognize at least one of their surnames, but she was to be disappointed.

"My father is Lord Maurice French," Belle continued at last, waiting for the dawning realization of exactly who he had met. She could feel Ruby's appraising look on her as he suddenly began offering a full set of pleasantries to both women.

"Are you in need of spiritual guidance?" he asked at last, looking between Belle and Ruby and still clearly confused as to the purpose of their visit. Not that Belle was any less confused, but she knew she had to be here. It all felt _right_ somehow.

"We're here because I want to become involved with the poor relief," she said. "And the orphans. And I wasn't sure where else to go."

Belle couldn't help noticing that Ruby had a peculiar smile on her face as she glanced back at her friend for support.

"Yes," Ruby added cheerfully. "We'd both like to help the poor."


	36. No One Is Alone

Rhys was fairly confident he'd be able to take Belle home soon. They'd been in the city longer than he'd hoped for already, but ever since the appearance of Nottingham on Belle's walking route, he'd felt the need to get her out of London. He'd started accompanying her when she took the dog to walk each morning, and they were going to a different park each day. So far, they'd avoided running into him again - but Rhys didn't dare think it was because Nottingham wasn't looking for her anymore.

Rhys had asked Belle to leave without him and return home, but she'd been adamant that she didn't want to be away from him. It was touching, and Rhys would have been worried about her nonstop either way – there was no way to truly keep her safe if Nottingham wanted to hurt her.

Neal had wanted to go out to the club, and in spite of Rhys' misgivings he knew his son had been right that Isaac was much more likely to actually sign the contracts if he had a few drinks in him. It was a calculated risk, and to that end he was in a room full of young men who were playing cards and drinking heavily.

For his part, Rhys was sitting in an armchair watching everyone else. Neal and Isaac were sitting with a group of other men at a card table laughing drunkenly at something. Eventually, the two got up and headed over to him, with Neal holding a staggering Isaac upright before depositing him in one of the chairs and sitting with them.

"I am having a wonderful time," Isaac said with a slight slur in his voice. "This is a very nice place."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Neal replied a little more soberly. "Because you just gave those men a lot of money."

Isaac smiled and said something in reply, but it escaped Rhys. He'd thought he'd seen something out of the corner of his eye that had him unsettled – for a moment he was sure he'd seen Nottingham, but when he looked there was some other gentleman there. It must have been the liquor or the fact that the man had been on Rhys' thoughts far more often than was strictly healthy lately. It felt like his every waking hour was spent guarding against Nottingham's appearance. Perhaps Rhys was just too tired, but the sooner they left the city the better.

His head was feeling pleasantly fuzzy as he reclined further into his chair. Neal and Isaac were still talking, though Rhys noticed Isaac was doing most of the talking. Somehow, Neal had managed to turn the conversation towards the business deal and Isaac seemed far more receptive towards signing papers now that he had a few drinks in him.

Rhys smiled to himself as he studied the amber liquid in his glass. It was good scotch, though there wasn't much surprise there. Neal had always insisted on the finer things, always been intensely aware of the class differences between himself and the men who invested with them, and always tried to maintain a perfect posture of respectability in all things. Everything about Neal was proof of how well his father had done, and Rhys couldn't have been more proud.

It took Rhys a little longer than usual to realize they'd been approached by another man, and just a split second more to recognize his wife's cousin. It was probably the drink and the low light, but Rhys was actually a little pleased to see the other man. He wasn't in the mood for business and Gaston had no head for it.

"Gaston," Rhys greeted his cousin-in-law as the tall man sat with them. "What brings you out?"

"Your wife," Gaston replied cheerfully. "She's gotten it into _my _wife's head to take up poor relief, and Ruby has filled an entire drawing room with things she's collected. I was afraid if I stayed at home I'd be Shanghaied into helping."

Rhys chuckled at the image conjured up. He could only imagine that Ruby was a force to be reckoned with when she set her mind to something, and he suspected she'd probably been going a little bit stir crazy without being able to be as involved in her company as she was used to.

"Belle's been the same," Rhys replied. "But it makes her happy."

Gaston nodded, understanding the point Rhys had been trying to make; Belle was happy and making progress.

"I hate to go so early," Neal said as he stood up. "But I think Mr. Heller has had about enough."

"I'm fine," Isaac protested, even as Neal helped him to his feet. "I'm not drunk."

"Whatever you say," Neal said. "We can swing by my office on your way home, then."

Isaac's head bobbed in what seemed to be a nod and let Neal drag him outside.

"Are they going to be all right?" Gaston asked, taking another sip of his drink and looking in no particular hurry to go after the other two if they weren't.

"There's a coach," Rhys replied. "And I'll take a cab home. Neal's going to be in a hurry to get Heller to sign the paperwork if he thinks he's got him."

"That's good, then," Gaston replied, relaxing into his chair further.

The two men sat in a pleasant silence for a little while. Rhys couldn't say he'd ever been friends with Gaston but he had no reason to dislike the man and they were family now. Besides, he was in that pleasant stage of drunkenness where he was perfectly content being precisely where he was and it seemed far less pitiful to be sitting there drinking quietly with another man than by himself, even if the net amount of socialization was the same.

Rhys wasn't quite sure how long the two sat there silently, but it couldn't have been more than a quarter of an hour before he saw Gaston bristle and sit upright. He turned to follow his companion's line of sight and that's when he saw it: Nottingham was there. He was talking to some other men, lingering near the door and laughing uproariously about something.

"I thought I saw him earlier," Rhys said at last, only half sure he could trust his eyes. "But I thought I was just drunk."

"Apparently not," Gaston replied. "I didn't know he came here."

"Me either," Rhys said. "But this is Neal's club, not mine."

Gaston had his jaw set as he stared at the other man. Rhys didn't think those two had even seen each other in the last year, though he knew from Neal that Nottingham still held some sort of grudge against himself and Gaston over what had happened with Belle – and he couldn't imagine that Nottingham wasn't aware that the feeling was mutual.

"He's leaving," Gaston said slowly, still watching keenly. He was right; the other man had a hat tucked under his arm and was clearly saying his goodbyes to his incredibly unpleasant looking friends. Rhys suddenly had the feeling that he was seconds away from seeing a fight break out, and it was probably a testament to how much he'd had to drink but that didn't seem like such a bad idea. After all, his wife's honor had been taken and if anyone was going to defend it, it should be him, although he wouldn't turn down the assistance.

"There's a back door," Rhys said, standing up and walking towards the servant's doors. He heard Gaston following him, his steps a little heavier than usual but steady enough. It had been a long time since Rhys had been in a fist fight, and he was fairly certain the help would be invaluable. Besides, the bastard didn't deserve a fair fight – he'd hardly given Belle one, after all.

They got turned around in the servant's passages, but luckily came across a servant who didn't seem at all interested in preventing mischief, and were pointed in the right direction before stumbling out into an alley behind the building. Rhys felt the cool night air hit his lungs and suddenly his blood was racing. He felt like a thirteen-year-old again, sneaking through alleys and lying in wait to retaliate for some injustice.

Rhys led Gaston through to where the alley met the street, peeking out just in time to see Nottingham spilling out of the door of the club with laughter following him. Rhys ducked back into the shadows, praying that this wasn't a waste of an effort and that their target wouldn't simply walk the other way. He really hadn't planned this properly, and the fresh air had woken him up enough to realize that it was probably a terrible idea but he heard Nottingham's footsteps approaching and who was he to argue with fate?

Nottingham was unsteady on his feet as he passed their hiding place, but he was still much larger than Rhys and the element of surprise was the only reason Rhys could think of for why it was so easy to yank the other man into the alley by the back of his coat.

It took Nottingham a second to realize that he was under attack, but even if he'd been more alert Rhys didn't think he'd have stood a chance. Gaston was roughly Nottingham's size, and Rhys had grown up fighting people larger than him – and he was armed. He swung his cane hard at Nottingham's jaw and the other man crumpled to the ground with a whimper. Gaston was on him in a second, punching at his face while Rhys got in a few more blows to the other man's ribs.

One thing Rhys remembered from his less law abiding days was when to quit working a man over, and as soon as they hit that point, he grabbed Gaston's arm and pulled him off. The entire attack probably only lasted a minute, but by the time they'd finished Nottingham was sporting a split lip, two black eyes, and likely a few broken ribs. It was a fairly satisfying picture watching the man groaning in pain as he started to regain consciousness, but they couldn't lurk too long and risk discovery.

"Come on," Rhys said to Gaston, leading the other man out to the street, summoning a cab and climbing inside before Nottingham could have a chance to call for help. Once they were safely in the coach, Rhys looked over at his accomplice and promptly burst out in laughter at the realization of what they'd just done.

"That was extremely satisfying," Gaston admitted, rubbing his bruised knuckles. "I should have done that a year ago."

"I agree," Rhys said, examining the head of his cane for blood. "God almighty, Belle is going to kill me."

"More than likely," Gaston replied. "Although I don't see Ruby as being particularly pleased, either."

"It was still worth it," Rhys said. "Anyway, the bastard deserved it."

"He did," Gaston agreed. "Do you think he saw us, by the way?"

"Probably not," Rhys replied. "I dropped him pretty quickly, and even if he did I doubt he'll remember much."

"That's good," Gaston said. "The last thing we need is any more trouble over him."

Belle was still awake when Rhys returned home, sitting in a chair in the parlour and reading a book. He felt like an ass. He hadn't expected her to wait up for him, and he certainly wouldn't have stayed out so late if he had. She smiled when she saw him, coming to greet him with a tender kiss.

"Did you have a nice time?" she asked, pulling back to look at him.

"I did," he replied, hoping he sounded sincere. "Your cousin met us at the club, so I stayed with him when Neal went to take Isaac home."

She didn't seem to have heard him, and was instead looking at him strangely.

"Did you go upstairs before you came here?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "I came straight to find you."

"Where's your hat?" she said. "And your overcoat."

He silently cursed himself for this oversight; he'd left both at the club as he and Gaston tracked Nottingham and there hadn't been time to return and retrieve them.

"I must have forgotten them," he replied. Hopefully that would be enough.

"Wasn't there a doorman?" Belle pressed. How do you forget your hat?"

That's really what he got for marrying a smart woman, wasn't it?

"We didn't leave through the front," Rhys finally said. "We went out the servants' door."

"Why would you go out that way?"

"We saw Nottingham leaving," Rhys finally replied. "And we followed him."

There was really no sense in hiding it from her; her cousin would be trying to sneak back past his wife with bruises on his knuckles and Rhys had absolutely no doubt in his mind Ruby would share that piece of information first thing in the morning.

"You followed him," Belle said dully. "You mean you fought him."

"I wouldn't exactly call it a fight," Rhys said with a smile he hoped was endearing. "He was knocked out most of the time."

"So you _attacked _him?" she shouted. "You just followed him out the back door and knocked him unconscious in the street?"

"It was in an alley," Rhys shot back. "I'm not stupid."

Belle glared at him and turned quickly to walk over to look out the window.

"Is he alive?" she finally said over her shoulder. "I mean, you didn't kill him, did you?"

"He was breathing when we left him," Rhys said. "A little the worse for wear, but he'll recover."

"And neither one of you ever stopped to think what a bad idea this was?" she asked, turning to face him so he could see the tears in her eyes. "Or how it could affect all of us?"

"He deserved it," Rhys replied, trying to hold onto his righteous indignation even as guilt was beginning to creep in. "He hurt you, and he deserved to be hurt."

"Don't you dare," she replied in a quiet voice he'd never heard before. This was a sort of anger he'd never seen in his wife before, nor ever thought to expect. "Don't you _dare_ tell me what he did to me, or what he deserves. Do you really think I haven't thought of a thousand punishments for him? Or that I haven't planned his death over and over again? I could describe it to you, all the ways I want him to suffer and the indignities I'd like to visit upon him and he would deserve every single second of it. But Rhys, this isn't about _him_."

She seemed shaken at her own outburst, and Rhys wanted so much to go to her but he was frozen to the spot by her anger. Even as he'd known she would be angry, he hadn't realized just how angry she could be.

"This isn't even about _you,_" Belle finally said, seeming smaller now. "God, do you think I wanted to have to worry about him showing up to ruin my life again? What if there were witnesses? Or what if he's just smart enough to figure out who would want to hurt him? You attacked a Duke, Rhys, they don't just let you walk away from that. What if something happens to _you?_"

Rhys couldn't help it anymore. He quickly followed her to where she was standing and wrapped his arms around her. She didn't relax immediately, and he was on the verge of letting her go when she sighed and melted against him.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he said. "I wasn't thinking of that. I didn't mean to worry you."

"I know," she replied, clinging to him desperately. "But you should have been."

"I should have," he agreed. "I was just so angry about how scared you've been and I wanted to make him suffer for you."

And he'd had a sudden flashback to the first time he had met Nottingham and the man's obvious lack of remorse for what he'd done. He'd been laughing about Belle with his friends, and Rhys was sure that he hadn't stopped out of respect for her marriage. She didn't need to hear that, though. She didn't need to think about the worst moment of her life being a joke to anyone, even though he knew she probably suspected as much.

He felt her take a deep breath and give a little shudder, and afterward she was more relaxed.

"Did he suffer much?" she asked a little hopefully, looking up at him again.

"I knocked him unconscious almost immediately," Rhys admitted. "But he felt it when he woke up. He probably has some broken ribs, at the least. And your cousin may have broken his nose."

She smiled at that and he knew she was pleased with him in spite of herself.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked her.

"I'm still very cross," she replied. "But I'm not going to bar you from our bedroom if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her fingers. "I haven't shared a bed with Neal since he was a very little boy, but from what I remember he's quite the kicker."

Belle sighed and turned back to face the window, but this time she leaned back against him and let him hold her as she calmed down. He rubbed her shoulders and arms and it wasn't long before she was leaning against him with her head resting on his shoulder.

"I missed you today," she said quietly. "I get lonely when you're out."

"I shouldn't have gone," he said instantly. "You're more important than Isaac Heller."

"No," she replied, turning to face him. "I'm glad you went. It was important to Neal and to us. I'm just more glad that you came home is all."

"I'll always come back," he promised. "And God willing Neal may have gotten him to agree to the new terms tonight, so it shouldn't be long now before we can go back home."

Belle nodded and stood on her toes to kiss him again. There was a sense of urgency there that he hadn't felt yet that night, but he recognized it now. He deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in. She had her hands on the side of his face, and she dragged them down to his chest as she began unwinding his cravat from around his neck.

Even with her insistent fingers on his shirt, it took until she pressed her hips against his that he realized what she wanted.

"Here?" he asked her, pulling away enough to look into her eyes.

Belle giggled at his shocked question and nodded. She'd been getting bolder since they'd been in town but this would be a new experience for him. A quick glance told him the door was closed, but he couldn't decide where she planned to attempt anything besides one of the divans and in that case he would probably have to put his foot down. There was no way he was going to risk upsetting her with that, and while she would sit on a lounge with other people in the room now, he remembered how uncomfortable she'd been before.

"Sit in the chair," she said as though she'd been reading his mind. He did as she bade and she dropped down into his lap soon after. "I've been thinking about this all day."

There had been a time in their marriage when Belle would have been bashful to admit that – if she even would have. It was hard to believe how far they'd come as a pair these last few months. She'd been so frightened before, and now here she was perched in his lap kissing him and touching him all over. Her nightgown had bunched around her hips as she straddled him and he stroked his hands up and down her thighs.

She began fiddling with the closures on his trousers and he wondered just exactly which book she'd been reading to get _this_ idea when his cock sprang free and she trailed her fingers up and down the length of it, robbing him of all higher thought. The only thing running through his mind was a need for her to keep going.

Belle rose up on her knees, putting her chest right in front of his face as she lined him up with her entrance. He couldn't resist an invitation like that, and he wrapped his arms around her back to hold her close as he licked the line of her breasts above the collar of the nightgown. She sighed, pausing to allow him time to work her breasts free and pull one pink nipple into his mouth. She let out a gasp of pleasure as he rolled the little bud between his lips and pulled gently with his teeth, and her hand came to rest on the back of his head gently. Rhys was sure he very much enjoyed this particular position; usually during their encounters he was too far away to make much use of his mouth, but this way he was free to taste her skin and that was something damn special.

Neither one spoke a word as she finally lowered herself over him, or when she rode him at a luxurious pace that felt like she had all the time in the world, or when his hand came down to tease the place at the apex of her sex that drove her over the edge. She whimpered and moaned as he used mouth and fingers to draw her pleasure out, and as she shivered around him he spilled himself inside her.

They sat like that only for a few more moments, Belle wrapped in his arms with her head on his shoulder and both of them looking wanton and disheveled. After a little while, she disengaged herself and quietly helped him to his feet. Once they were put back together, she led him to their shared bed where he spent the rest of the night marveling at the woman he had married.

The next morning, they overslept quite badly. The sun was already high in the sky when Rhys awoke and Belle began to stir. They'd slept the night tangled in each other's arms, but he was still loathe to let her go no matter how long they'd been together. She was like a goddess in the morning, and everything in him resisted releasing her.

"Good morning," she said sleepily as she realized he'd been watching her.

In reply, he simply leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I slept well," she continued. "Did you?"

"I did," he replied, reluctantly letting her go as she scooted to the side of the bed. "Do we have time for breakfast before we leave?"

"I have to walk the dog," Belle said. "But you don't have to come with me if you're hungry."

"I can wait," he said. Truthfully, he'd just wanted to spend just a little longer with his wife before the reality of the day set in and the carriage to the park would just have to do.

She smiled and kissed him and they dressed in relative peace and collected Rose to take her to the waiting carriage.

"Excuse me, Mr. Gold?" a voice came from behind them, and Rhys turned to face the stranger.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, glancing over toward Belle who was holding the puppy protectively and watching the new arrival warily.

"My name is Officer Percival," the man explained. "I hate to do this in front of the missus, but I'm afraid I'm here to arrest you."

"No!" Belle exclaimed, grabbing Rhys' arm immediately.

"What's this about?" Rhys asked.

"We've had a complaint about an assault with attempt to murder last night," Percival said. "The victim identified you as the culprit."

Rhys looked to his wife where she stood next to him. The blood had gone out of her face and she looked on the verge of fainting or sobbing and he wasn't sure which.

"It's going to be all right," he said to her. "I promise."

"You can't go," she replied immediately, looking over at the officer standing in front of them. "He didn't do anything wrong. You have to believe me."

"There's been a complaint filed, ma'am," the man said evenly. "He was very sure of his assailant."

"It's all right," Rhys said to her as calmly as he could manage. "I'll go with him and get this all sorted out and I'll be back before dinner."

"No," Belle protested as Rhys let the officer put his hands into the cuffs. "You can't take him, please."

"Don't worry," Rhys said. "It will all work out."

The tears were falling down his wife's cheeks as he was led away. His last view of Belle as he was put into the carriage was her face in her hand as she shook with tears. He didn't think he'd ever forgive himself for doing this to her – he just hoped he hadn't lied one last time.


	37. Into the Lion's Den

Belle hadn't known what to do after the officer took her husband away, but she'd known she had to do something. They could sentence you to life imprisonment for that charge, or hard labor. She harbored no illusions as to her husband's chances of surviving the latter, but she didn't know enough about the law to be able to guess at much more than that.

Her first order of business had been sending one of the footmen to rouse Neal and tell him what had happened, then to send another to fetch her father. She was floundering and desperate for somebody to tell her what the right thing to do was. She felt responsible, and she had no idea what to do.

Her family had come along not long after Neal had left with a promise to hire a lawyer and go down to the courthouse to see what he could discover. That, at least, had been something useful. Belle envied him that. She had so far only succeeded in throwing herself into her startled father's arms and crying herself out, and currently she was pacing through the parlour trying very hard not to look at Gaston. He had bandages on his hands and a guilty expression on his face and she was very sure if she looked at him she would start screaming. Her husband was gone, her cousin was here, and she wanted to throttle him for it.

"We can't just sit here all day," Ruby said at last, setting down her teacup loudly. "Isn't there something that can be done?"

"He – _they _– beat a Duke unconscious," her father said, throwing a dark look towards Gaston. "It's not as simple as paying a fine."

"It wasn't entirely unprovoked," Ruby replied, also throwing an unhappy look at Gaston, who now looked like he might be willing to turn himself in to avoid the collective ire of the room. "Surely there must be some kind of plea?"

"As far as the courts care, nothing ever happened before all this," Belle said bitterly. "And even if it _had,_ it would be his word against ours, and nobody is going to take the world of a middle-class businessman and his ruined wife over a member of the House of Lords."

"This is all so silly," Ruby said, turning to Gaston again. "How did Rhys even get identified?"

"He's the one who knocked him out," Gaston said with a sigh. "And he spoke towards the end. Nottingham must have seen or heard him. Or else he didn't realize there were two of us."

Nobody seemed to know how to respond to Gaston's explanation of events. Belle was still trying to stay angry with him because anger was just so much easier than anything else.

"At any rate, there _has_ to be something we can do," Ruby said to Belle's father. "Don't you have any favors you can call in?"

"Nothing that will help," Maurice replied. "And to be honest I can't think of anything that could get him off, especially if there are witnesses."

Ruby's question rumbled around in Belle's head for a little while before the solution to this problem struck her like a bolt of lightning and she froze in her pacing.

"I do," she said, feeling silly for not having thought of this earlier. "I have a favor I can call in."

Everyone got quiet, looking at her and waiting for what she could possibly have to settle this

"I'm Nottingham's largest creditor," she explained. "It was a wedding present from my husband. I own enough of his debts to ruin him."

Her father and cousin were looking at her with shock on their faces, but Ruby just looked smug.

"That must be thousands of pounds," Maurice said. "How on Earth did he manage that?"

"I don't know," Belle replied. "But I have a packet of IOUs upstairs in a hatbox. I can ruin him."

"I'll tell him," Gaston said quickly. "Give me the packet and I'll take them over."

"No," Belle said. "It has to be me."

It was always going to come down to this, she realized. Ever since the beginning, it had been between her and Nottingham, and now neither one of them could ever rest until they had destroyed the other. If she ran, he would pursue her. She'd been trying to hide from him for over a year, and he'd still come after her once she was back in the open. He wasn't ever going to stop.

"Rhys isn't going to forgive us for letting you endanger yourself" Gaston replied. "Even if it gets him out. Not while there are other options."

"You can come with me," Belle said. "But I have to go myself. I have to be the one to end this."

"I'll come too," her father said.

"No," Belle said. "You need to join Neal at the court. They should see he has some support in spite of Nottingham and his title. Gaston can come with me. Nottingham won't hurt me if I'm not alone."

Her father seemed uneasy, but he relented. Ruby refused to be left alone, so it was decided that she could wait in the carriage and call for help if they were gone too long. Gaston had been with Belle at the start; it seemed fitting he should be the one there with her at the end.

By the time they were sitting outside Nottingham's London home in the carriage, Belle's courage was beginning to fail her. She'd changed from her pale yellow walking dress into a much more somber one in a navy blue. It was the most severe thing she owned, and she didn't dare go to face Nottingham dressed as the foolish girl he'd last met. He would look on her as his equal, and he would learn to fear her.

"You really don't need to do this," Gaston said to her as they walked up the stairs to the house. "I can go in alone."

"I need to," she said. "For myself at least, but also for my husband. I will not let us be beaten."

Gaston nodded and knocked, which was answered by a butler who looked straight through them.

"My apologies," the man said. "But I'm afraid the Duke is not at home today."

He began to shut the door, but Belle interrupted him.

"He is for me," she said as firmly as she could manage, taking out a calling card bearing the inscription _Mrs. Gold _in an elegant font and dropping it into the silver tray the butler held. "We'll wait."

The man seemed confused, clearly having expected them to have accepted his dismissal, but he still allowed them into the hall while he retreated to find his master.

Gaston didn't try to speak to her, for which she was grateful. Everything here felt too big and too dangerous, and she was just trying to keep hold of her courage for the battle to come.

Soon, the butler returned and directed them towards a sitting room where Nottingham sat on a divan, propped up by pillows. His face was a mess, blue and swollen all over with a cut splitting his lip. She wondered how far down the bruising went, and noted with no small amount of satisfaction that his breath did not seem to be coming easily. He was clearly in a lot of pain.

"Mrs. Gold, what a surprise," he said sarcastically. "You'll forgive me for not standing; I'm afraid your husband left me a bit the worse for wear." He paused as he took in Gaston, his eyes darting to the bandages on her cousin's hands. "And apparently so did your cousin. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She grit her teeth at the familiar word from his lips, though the sting was eased by the slur in his words caused by his swollen lip.

"You had my husband arrested," she said sternly, sitting opposite him in an armchair while Gaston walked around the room idly. "You had to know I'd come."

"So he sent you to beg for mercy?" Nottingham replied, chuckling a little before wincing. "Does he really think I'm going to forgive all this because of what we had?"

She shoved aside the reference to what he'd done to her. She had to maintain control, she had to be powerful, she had to be stronger than him.

"Quite the opposite, actually," she said, setting the packet of papers down on the table in front of him. "I've actually come to offer mercy to you."

"What is that?" he asked, staring at it warily.

"Oh come now," Belle replied. "Surely a man of your education can read. Oh fine, I'll tell you. That is a collection of your outstanding debts. Gambling, horses, clothes...I can't even remember them all, to be honest. Really, you should learn to handle your finances better."

"Where did you get those?" Nottingham asked her grabbing for the packet and flipping through it to confirm the truth of her statement.

"Does that really matter?" she asked him. "The important thing is that I have them now."

Even through the bruises, she could see nervousness beginning to creep into Nottingham's face and she channelled all her willpower into not letting relief show on hers. It was strange how much smaller he was in life than he'd always been in her memory and nightmares. She had made him into a demon, and here he sat as a man with no more power to hurt her than any other.

"You can't do this," he blurted out, looking up at her. "I'll be ruined."

Belle felt her anger begin to boil over then, and she was so thankful for it. She'd rather be angry than afraid, and no one deserved her wrath more than he did.

"_I _was ruined," she exclaimed. "Through no choice of my own. At least you've had a say in your own destruction."

"Is this _still_ about that?" he said, sounding annoyed. "I thought we understood each other. I can understand why _he –_" he gestured to Gaston where he stood behind Belle's chair "– would be upset. But for God's sake, I offered to marry you, what else was I supposed to do?"

Belle felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Of all the reactions she had imagined, his complete denial of wrongdoing had never crossed her mind. He was supposed to be penitent and beg her forgiveness, or else angry at her for defeating him. He was at least supposed to know why she had been angry. Somehow, _this _was the worst part.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gaston said from behind her, and Belle was suddenly glad he'd insisted on coming along. There was no way she could have answered this revelation.

"Don't deny it," Nottingham said, still looking at her. "There was always something between us. You felt it, too. Remember when you were presented at court? We danced, and you were wearing that dress with the pearls and feathers all over it and I saw how you smiled at me."

She certainly remembered being presented at court. She'd met the Queen and danced with dozens of gentlemen. She also remembered the dress, which she had spent weeks designing and had always grieved not wearing it again. Now she was glad she'd had a simple wedding, because that dress would forever be tainted by this association. It was one more thing of hers Nottingham had somehow tainted.

"I don't remember you there," she said once she was sure she could answer him without her voice breaking. Fear was beginning to replace her anger, and she needed to hold on just a little longer. "There were hundreds of people. You were just another face in the crowd."

"You flirted with me," he replied, beginning to sound upset. "You flirted for months after! God almighty you were such a tease! What was I supposed to do when I heard you were engaged, anyway?"

Gaston seemed about to attack Nottingham again, but Belle suddenly found her voice.

"You were supposed to leave me alone!" she said, doing her level best not to shout loud enough to attract the attention of any servants. "I was engaged, how could you possibly think I wanted _you_?"

"You always danced with me at balls," he replied, beginning to sound desperate now that she was arguing. "You smiled at me and laughed. I watched you for so long! How can you deny it? You weren't like any of the others - you were _special."_

Belle was sure she'd be sick here on his carpet and he'd deserve it. He thought that she wanted him. He thought that she'd led him on – _had_ she flirted? She didn't remember paying him any particular attention or of being more than polite. Her heart was racing and she was scanning the last few years to try to remember who was right and who was wrong and she was coming up empty. Was this why he had sought her out in the park? In an attempt to renew this flirtation?

It was Gaston who saved her. He had moved to the side where she could see him and looked completely affronted.

"You have got to be joking," he said to Nottingham. "Are you out of your mind? I was at every single one of those balls, and you can trust me - I would have noticed if my fiancee had been flirting with other men! She barely even spoke to you!"

Nottingham didn't seem to have a response for that. Instead he was looking between Belle and Gaston with fear and confusion on his battered face. Finally, the fight seemed to go out of him, and he sagged back into his seat.

"What do you want?" he asked her, tossing the packet of papers back onto the table.

"You need to drop the charges against my husband," Belle said slowly, trying to keep her emotions in check. "Today."

"It's not that simple with an attempted murder charge," he replied sullenly.

"Tell them you were mistaken. You had a concussion, it can cause confusion."

He stared at her for a moment before nodding.

"What about those?" he indicated the papers in her hands. "Where's my guarantee you won't use them against me?"

"I'm not giving you one," she replied. "This is a temporary reprieve, not amnesty."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to squirm," she said at last. "I want you to know at any moment your world can come crashing in like mine did. I want you to fear the moment I'll come back for you and know that I can whenever I want. I want my life and safety back, and if getting that means holding yours in check, then I'll do it."

"You can't do this to me," Nottingham whined, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"I can, and I will," she replied. "Every time you buy a horse or lose at cards, I want you to wonder if it's going to end up in this pile and wonder what I can do to you if it does."

"You can't take the entail from me," he said. "I couldn't give that away if I wanted to."

"No, but I can take everything else you hold dear," she said. "I can take your lifestyle and your future, all the little things that make life worth living. I can leave you with nothing else but a title and an empty house. The young ladies are already skittish around you after what you did to me, how many would even so much as speak to you if this came out? I can rob you of your reputation. You would truly have nothing. _That_ is what it means to be ruined."

The room went dead silent as she finished talking, and for a moment she felt so light she was sure she could fly.

She collected her papers and stood, joining her cousin where he was waiting for her.

"I think that should be all I need for the day," she told Nottingham. "I'm sure you have plenty to do; see that my husband is home before nightfall. We can show ourselves out."

Nottingham gave no outward sign that he'd even heard her, but it didn't matter. She owned him now, and they both knew it.

She made her way out with Gaston, but once they were standing on the front steps she suddenly began to hyperventilate. He had been _right there_. She had been close enough he could have touched her, and even though she had overcome him, the idea that he'd thought she was _flirting _with him was almost too much to bear. She had spent months wondering what she could have changed to make it not have happened, and the idea that it went as far back as her presentation at court meant that he had been watching her for years. Her skin was crawling and she was lightheaded. She couldn't breathe.

"Belle!" Gaston exclaimed, grabbing her arms to hold her upright even as her vision was swimming. "Belle, look at me! Breathe, okay? Just breathe."

He started taking deep, exaggerated breaths and she tried to time hers to match his and soon enough she was calm enough to focus.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, releasing her arms and taking a step back. "It was pretty intense in there."

"I am," she replied. "Thank you for coming."

"Don't," he said. "If it wasn't for me you wouldn't even have had to do that in the first place."

"No," she said. "I was going to have to do it someday. He left me no choice, it was him or me."

"You're right," he said with a little smile, turning and leading her back to the carriage. "You do know that you're not ruined the way you told him, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Inside," he replied. "You told Nottingham being ruined meant being left with no future and nothing to live for. But you're so much more than that. You're happy and thriving – you have so much more now than you did before. You picked yourself up, and I'm proud of you for it."

She didn't know what to say. It was probably the single nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and she hadn't known how much she needed to hear it.

"Thank you," she managed to say before he handed her into the carriage where Ruby was waiting. But somehow that didn't feel like words enough.

"You two go back," Gaston said. "I'll wait around here and make sure he actually goes to the magistrate."

She smiled at her cousin as he shut the door and gave directions to the driver. It had been a hard experience, but Belle was glad that she had done it. She had confronted the dragon only to discover that she was mighty.

Ruby stayed with Belle even after Gaston had returned with news that Nottingham had gone to the jail himself and gone inside. Belle wasn't sure how she would ever repay the two for their kindness to her. They had been with her all day during some of the most trying moments of her life. There was no equivalent to that sort of thing.

Once Gaston arrived, it was only a matter of time until Rhys came home, and within two hours he came into the parlour, looking around until his eyes caught hers. Belle was on her feet and in his arms faster than she thought possible, and she didn't let him go even as she heard her family making their excuses and leaving quietly.

When they were finally alone, Rhys pulled away a bit and brushed the tears off her face with his thumb. She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked, and the tenderness in his voice had her struggling not to sob.

"You're home," she replied. "I'm just so glad you're back."

He was a little the worse for wear, and his suit was likely beyond saving, but he had come home to her and it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen in her life. She threw her arms around his neck again, unbalancing him enough to send both crashing to the floor but she hardly noticed, desperate as she was to feel his lips on hers again. She kissed him then, so hard she saw stars and was sure that they must eventually melt together.

"Promise me you'll never leave again," she breathed into his shoulder as he held her tight on top of him on the floor.

"Never," he said. "They couldn't drag me away."

"I was so scared," she replied. "I had to blackmail Nottingham with the debts."

"So that explains his change of heart," Rhys said with a little chuckle. "I had wondered what happened. I'm so proud of you, Belle."

She was proud of herself, too, and thankful she had a husband who loved her enough to fight for her the way she would always fight for him. But there would be time enough for all of that late., For right now she just wanted to go upstairs with Rhys and spend the rest of the day reassuring herself that he was real and he was home and she had saved him.

They had saved each other.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading this and leaving lovely comments! This is, unfortunately, the last chapter. It's been a long, long road to reach this point but here we are! I did want to include a thing I wrote in response to somebody on Tumblr in regards to Nottingham that I unfortunately wasn't able to include in the story but I feel like it adds some extra context:

The thing about Nottingham is that he's what's called a power reassurance rapist. This is something I clearly can't put in the narrative anywhere, but he's actually in the process of escalating into a power assertive rapist.

Belle is by no means the first woman he's raped, but she is the first of his own social class. The earlier ones would have been servants and barmaids for the most part, and he truly believes they liked him and probably gave them gifts and money later. Unfortunately, we can't really get into his internal life too much but he actually has extremely low self esteem. His father should have taught him to run an estate and manage his finances and never did, because his father didn't like him that much. He spent most of his life either at school or far from home and really didn't come back until it was time to take over as Duke. That's the point when he began to feel powerful and started to escalate. He would likely have a mistress who he has a history of hurting.

All that to say, he only ever really seemed scary because he hurt Belle. He hurt someone much smaller than him by isolating her and taking advantage of it. He made crude jokes and comments to his friends where nobody would stand up to him, and when Gaston tried he backed down. Neal saw right through him and called him on it and Nottingham backed down. He is a coward, and he was never a monster or a demon, he was a man and a scared one at that. Belle always thought he was bigger and stronger than he was, so people thought he would be scary.

I wanted people to be afraid of him, but now that you've "met" him, he's really nothing special at all, is he?


	38. Epilogue

It's been two months, that's a good time for an epilogue, right?

* * *

It was finally over, thank God.

Rhys hadn't been so terrified since Neal was born, and time seemed to have softened his memories of that particular terror quite well. The midwife had only just come out to tell him that both Belle and their baby were safe and resting and he could go inside as soon as he was ready. It was a girl.

They had chosen the name Rebecca if it was a girl. Rebecca Evanna Colette Gold. He knew the name by heart and had even dreamt of it on occasion. But now there was a little person that name was attached to, and she was just on the other side of that door waiting for him to work up the nerve to go in and meet her and he loved her so much he wasn't even sure he could move. His hands wouldn't quite take the knob, and in any event his legs didn't seem inclined to agree with him about walking regardless of his traitorous hands.

He wasn't sure he'd ever been more terrified in his life. He'd gone through this all before with Neal, but at the time inexperience and naivete had reassured him that all would be well. There was money enough to feed them all and he wasn't his father and that should have been good enough. This time he didn't have the benefit of ignorance and he was painfully aware of everything that could go wrong with a child. And Rebecca was a girl, and he hadn't ever had one before.

Neal had been the eldest, the heir, and even at his son's most vulnerable Rhys had never needed to worry about reputation beyond making sure he was honest, educated, and respectable. Rebecca had been born halfway to ruined already. The first sign of any of her mother's wit and spirit or of a flirtatious nature and the girl would be written off entirely by polite society. God forbid anything ever befall her like what had happened to Belle – Heaven help him if she turned out as beautiful as her mother.

At least she would have money to insulate her, but he didn't know how to even begin to raise this child who would need so much protection when he already wasn't sure that he would see her to adulthood. Men in their forties had no business having baby girls. What had he even been thinking?

The door opened and Belle's maid was standing there holding an armful of linens. She looked a little startled, but recovered easily enough. She curtseyed, and apologized loud enough that he knew Belle had to have heard her. Well, there was no more lingering and trying to work up his nerve if his wife already knew he was there.

Belle was sitting up in bed in one of her pretty nightgowns with the baby nestled in her arms. She glanced up when she heard his footsteps and smiled at him and suddenly he couldn't stop moving forward until he was at her side.

"You're gonna meet your papa, darling," she cooed to the bundle on her arms before looking up and patting the spot next to her to invite him to join them on the bed.

He sat with them quickly, and Belle brought her knees up and shifted the sleeping infant to rest on her legs so he could see her more easily.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Belle asked.

"She is," he replied truthfully. "She looks just like you."

"You liar," she teased. "You can't tell who she looks like yet."

"I'm sure she has your nose," he replied, reaching out and touching the baby's cheek with his finger. "And your lips."

Belle smiled and looked back at Rebecca, but he could see her fingers teasing a piece of lace on the edge of the blanket nervously and he put his arm around her comfortingly. Experience told him she would tell him what was wrong soon enough if he was patient.

"I love her so much," Belle whispered and he heard tears beginning to overwhelm her voice. "She's so perfect."

"She is," he replied, leaning over to kiss his wife's temple softly. "You did such a good job and I'm so proud of you."

Belle was crying in earnest now, and he wasn't sure what to do besides let it happen. As hard as this had all been on him, he knew she'd been through the worst of all of it.

"How am I ever going to protect her?" Belle sobbed at last. "She's so small and perfect and helpless and the world is so dangerous."

She was echoing his own concerns, and as much as he wanted to be strong for her, the best he could do was to pull her head under his chin so his tears would fall into her hair where she couldn't see that he was terrified, too.

"Nobody is ever going to hurt her," he said before he could even stop himself from lying to her. "She'll be safe, sweetheart, I promise."

Belle nodded and sniffled a little. He wanted to tell her it was the stress of childbirth and that she was just exhausted and would feel better if she slept. It would be so easy to put her off, but that would just make her feel crazy again – or at least like he thought that she was.

She was doing so much better than she had been when they got engaged, but he knew there would always be something inside her that no amount of love and patience could put right. She would always know what it felt like to be hurt and that knowledge couldn't be erased, only mitigated. He never came upon her when she was alone without announcing himself, never touched her unexpectedly, and never left her side when they were among strangers. And now, he would protect their daughter the same way.

"I'll be right here with you the whole time," he promised. "We are going to do this together and she is going to be safe."

Belle nodded weakly and rested her head on his shoulder in a way that made him feel so much more important than he ever had before.

"I know," she said softly. "It's just so scary to think about. I can't stop thinking about whether my situation would have been different if I'd had a mother like she will, but no matter what I think of I still come back to the same bad things each time. But maybe not, maybe it would have been different. Maybe that would have made a difference."

"It will," he said. "You'll teach her well."

She nodded again and he felt her try to stifle a yawn.

"Go to sleep," he said with a smile. "You were in labor all night and most of the day. You must be exhausted."

"I'm not that tired," she replied, but another yawn interrupted her before she could elaborate on how very awake she was feeling. "I don't want to let go of her yet."

"She will still be here when you wake up," he replied. "I can promise you that much."

"Will you stay?" she asked. "With both of us?"

"Of course I will," he replied, kissing her head again. "I can't think of anywhere of rather be than right here."

She smiled and reluctantly handed Rebecca over to him, and he kicked off his shoes so he could lay on the bed with Belle while she napped.

He was sure the little girl was going to look just like her mother, but his fears of her being lovely had faded when he was faced with the truth of his child – of _their_ child – the truth of Rebecca and of Belle, who maybe would always hurt, but who would had survived and grown stronger for it. Or perhaps she had always been strong and never known it, but regardless he knew that she would do whatever it took to keep their daughter safe.

Either way, he knew in that moment that there was nothing they couldn't do. Their daughter would be raised with more love than either of them could have hoped for. She would have a father to protect her and a mother to shelter her, and what more could he possibly hope to give? What more could anyone ever want?


End file.
